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He was alone on Christmas Day two years ago when Father was here and there was no talk then of inviting him to dinner, and I feel I know why. " Again he paused.

"Father didn't like the man, he never liked him. Why he kept him on I don't know, but there's one thing I know for a certainty: he would never have received an invitation to Christmas dinner from Father."

Whatever effect Stephen's words had on his mother was not evident except for a slight pressure on the lips her expression remained the same but the effect certainly showed on the rest of them, for they all looked startled at his audacity. Then just as Grace was about to reply Jane broke in, her words tumbling over themselves, "You ... oh, Stephen, I don't know how you can say such things. Father did like Andrew, he did. As for George' she glared at Beatrice now 'if I wanted him to meet anyone it would be Andrew, and if he felt he was above meeting Andrew he wouldn't be the one for me ... so there. You are nothing but a lot of silly ... silly snobs. And snob isn't the right word either.... Oh, I don't know...."

"Be quiet, Jane, it's all right." Grace's hand was on her arm. Then she turned and looked at Stephen and her voice was very low, even gentle, as she said, "What you seem to forget, what everybody seems to forget, is that I am still mistress of this house, and if I want Andrew to dinner I'll have him to dinner. Andrew is ... Her voice was trembling now. Her lids began to blink rapidly as she looked from one to the other, and when no-one spoke she turned away and made for the door. Having passed into the hall and closed the door behind her, she held on to the knob for some seconds, for her legs were shaking so that she felt she would drop, and to her dismay the sickly feeling of dread and anxiety was blocking her chest once more.

As she made her way to the foot of the staircase her walk became slightly erratic and she looked down at her legs. As she did so the expression on her face changed;

the look of deep pain and anxiety seeping from her eyes was replaced by one of desperate urgency, and after supporting herself for a moment with a hand on the balustrade she. did not mount the stairs to her room but crossed the hall towards the dining-room. It was imperative that she followed up the stand she had made in the drawing-room with a test. She would open the hatch to the kitchen and say to Peggy, "Is everything going well, Peggy?" That alone would be a strengthener of courage.

When she opened the dining-room door Peggy Mather was bending over the table moving a cruet to a new position. Grace had spent most of the afternoon setting the table and now the voice of courage said, "Tell her to put that back where it was," but she wasn't brave enough to comply. And she walked into the room as if she hadn't noticed what Peggy was doing. Then she went and stood some way behind her, for it was easier to address her from behind.

The woman at the table was broad hipped, and as she bent forward her buttocks pressed themselves out of her print skirt bringing it up into a peak showing a pair of hard, fleshy calves. Even her bulk was intimidating. She had always stood a little in awe of this woman right from the very start, yet it was nothing compared with the feeling Peggy Mather had aroused in her these past few weeks.

She tried to speak now as mistress to maid, as if there was nothing more between them than that, but her voice failed her as she said, "Is everything going all right, Peggy?"

"Why shouldn't it be? It isn't the first time we've had a dinner at seven instead of one ... it's all the same thing."

Grace watched the broad back straighten up. She watched her walk with her heavy step towards the service door, and when it had swung to behind her she sat down. Then, joining her hands together, she did a very unusual thing:

she began to pray.

Less than half an hour later Stephen and Beatrice came to her room.

Stephen came first. He looked slightly crestfallen and more youthful than she had seen him for some time, and when he apologised for his behaviour, saying, "I'm sorry, nothing like that will ever happen again', she wanted not only to put out her hands to him but to take him in her arms. Yet all she did was to look at him kindly and say, " It's all right, I understand," and she did understand. She understood a little how he was feeling at this moment of contrition, for was he not her son.

When a few minutes later Beatrice came into the room and exclaimed,

"Oh, Mammy, I do like you in that grey, it looks super, I haven't seen you in it for ages," she felt a little sick, a little sad, for she guessed that they had put their heads together, determined that the Christmas festivities should not be marred, at least through them. The incident that had happened downstairs was unfortunate, and the outcome of it they were waiving until tomorrow, she could almost hear her husband's voice endorsing their decision . 'sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

For the first time in three years Grace went to sleep in the dark, and when she woke in the dark and found that she had been to sleep she was hardly afraid. There was a soft stillness about the room and the whole house, and she guessed that it was snowing. She told herself to get up and see, and then she remembered no more until it was morning, and she awoke again to a quiet stir about the house broken by excited cries from a room across the landing.

It was Christmas morning and Yvonne was opening her stocking. She had no desire to go and witness this event. When her own children had been small it had thrilled her to Avatch them unpacking their stockings, but Yvonne did not seem to belong to her, not even as a grandchild.

She was a spoilt child.

As she lay she hoped that no-one would come and disturb her for a long while, for she wanted to savour this feeling that she had woken with, this feeling of newness, of courage, of having at least been able to conquer the dark. She stretched her long legs down the bed, then, twisting round, she lay on her stomach, her face buried in the pillow.

She would make everybody happy today, everybody. And she would go to church . yes, she would go to church. That would please Stephen. Yes she would go to church. And this evening she would play to them.

It was ten o'clock before the breakfast things and all the debris from the presents were cleared away. She couldn't say that any of her Christmas presents had brought her delight. They were mostly things for use in the house; these no doubt they thought would please her, and she was sure she had conveyed that impression. Her gifts to them had been in the form of cheques, small ones, but they all, even Gerald, had received them with expressions of surprised delight.

She had a strong feeling that Gerald was trying to corner her. He had never left her for a moment last night. It had almost become embarrassing. He was too solicitous by far.

And now when she had come upstairs to get ready for church and he made the excuse to follow her by bringing some wood for her fire, she knew he had succeeded in his efforts and she must face up to it and get it over.

He stood outside her door calling, "Fuel up. Mother', and when she said, " Come in, Gerald', he entered, boisterous and gay, his arms laden with logs.

"That's kind of you, Gerald. I always feel guilty about my fire, but I can't stand electric fires and I have tried."

"Why should you; you usually see to it yourself, anyway.... If you can't have what you want in your own house it's come to something." He pushed a log on the centre of the fire and pressing it home firmly with his boot added, "And I don't see why you should have to mess about with fires either. Peggy's got nothing to do most of the rime, only you to see to, and she's got help to do it at that."

"Oh, she's kept pretty busy and there's nothing like fires for making work."

Gerald straightened up and dusted his hands, then, turning and taking up a position not unlike that of Stephen he looked at her and said in a voice that could only be described as tender, "You know. Mother, I haven't had the chance to speak to you alone, but I just want to say from the bottom of my heart that I'm glad to see you so much better."

She turned from the dressing-table with a ring in her hand, and she looked at it as she slowly pushed it on to her finger. She even paused to admire its effect before saying, "Thank you, Gerald; that's very kind of you."

"Y'know, Mother' Gerald let his head fall back on to his shoulders, then drop forward again before proceeding 'if it wasn't that you are so much better' he stressed the 'are' - " I wouldn't, not for the world, say what I'm going to say now, and as time's short and they'll all be yelling for you in a minute, I'll come straight to the point. You know

. or of course you don't know that Livsey is selling out, and he's willing to let his holding go as a sacrifice. Now' he held his hand up as if he were directing traffic at the stop sign "I know that that word is suspect but nobody's going to put one over on me, not in my own line of business, so you can take my word for it that it just means what it says. Well, Mother, you know how I stand. I haven't got seven thousand pounds. I wish I had, and this is what I want to ask you.... Mind, I'm not asking for a loan ... Again his hand was at the stop sign.

"I'm asking you to do a business deal. And this is it: will you buy Livsey out? You'll have profits, part control, the lot ... Now it's like this ... " Sit down, Gerald. " Grace's quiet tone checked him and she pointed to a chair. Then she drew the dressing-table stool near to her, and when she was sitting opposite him he put in hastily but in a less strident tone, " Well, just hear me out. Mother, before you say anything. "

"It's no use, Gerald."

He made no reply to this but he smiled at her and nodded. He was used to this kind of beginning; he was also used to pressing home the point.

One acquired the technique in the car business.

"All right, all right. Now just listen, just for a minute...."

Grace looked downwards to where her hands were joined tightly together and she bit on her lip before saying in a voice that was no longer quiet, "It's no use, Gerald, you're only making it worse for yourself.

I mean what I say, I can't help you' she raised her eyes and looked straight into his round and to her unpleasant face as she ended 'for the simple reason that I haven't any money. "

"What!"

His disbelief was scornful and it brought her head up and gave an edge to her voice.

"You can say " What! " in that manner, but I'm telling you the truth.

I haven't any money, at least not your kind of money. It will come as news to you, I know, but I haven't had ... what you call money for some rime now."

"What about the business?"

"It's mine in name only."

"You were bought out?"

"No, I wasn't bought out in the way you mean. To put it briefly, Uncle Ralph speculated some years ago. As you know, he owned half of everything; something went wrong ... many things went wrong and he was facing bankruptcy. The firm was taken over but still run under our name. I was left with enough to put Stephen through college and see Jane settled."

"But this place?" Gerald spread his arms wide, embracing the house.

"You can't run this on tuppence a week." He refrained from adding,

"Cooks, gardeners, the lot."

His tone jarred on her and she wanted to cry, "What business is it of yours?" but she knew his hopes had been dealt a very hard blow, so she replied quietly, "It doesn't cost so much to run as you might think, and in a very short rime the house and everything in it will be sold."

"Good God!" He was on his feet.

"And the others know nothing about it?"

"No, they know nothing about it. It won't concern them very much, anyhow. Stephen will have no use for a house like this, his home will be in a vicarage in some part of the country. And Beatrice is in your hands ... Grace paused here before adding, " And Jane's future will be settled over the holidays at least I hope so. "

"God Almighty!" Gerald was being entirely himself now.

"And you think they're not going to mind?"

"Oh yes, I know they'll mind and be disappointed."

"Disappointed. Huh ... I Well ... He looked down at her.

"We ll' the word was drawn out this rime 'all I can say is that it's a damn fine kettle of fish."

"I'm sorry you should feel so bitter about it, but after all, Gerald, it may surprise you to learn that I have dealt with you very generously. You've had two thousand pounds and more in the last three years. It was a very difficult thing to do to decide on giving Beatrice and the child that money when my affairs were in such a chaotic state, and no doubt in the future I may be glad of two thousand pounds. No, Gerald, under the circumstances your family has been treated very fairly."

Gerald stared at her. There was a black rage welling up in him; her seeming indifference to his plight infuriated him. Not only had she killed his hopes of eventually owning his company but his future was dead also. He hadn't realised up till now just how much he had depended on her generosity to her grandchild and eventual legacy to her daughter. This woman had been a source of security for him, an insurance policy. If things didn't go right, well, there was always Beat's mother. Not a little of his present success was due, he knew, to his connection through marriage with Cartner and Cartner.

So bitter were his feelings that when Grace spoke again he did not hear her. But after a moment he turned on her and said, "What did you say?"

"I was asking you, Gerald, not to tell Beatrice or the others about it just yet. Of course, they will have to know. You can tell Beatrice if you wish when you return home, but I'll explain to Jane and Stephen before the holidays are over."

Gerald made no answer to this, but he thrust his lips out before bringing them in to form a tight line across his face. Then, turning abruptly on his heels, he left her.

It was some moments before Grace moved from the seat, and then she went slowly to the wardrobe and took out her mink coat, and when she had put it on she looked at herself in the mirror. She could up to a point understand Gerald's feelings. In a coat such as this in a house such as this, it was hard to credit she was a woman without substantial means.