We're even."

"Good. Now may I buy you dinner?"

That was how it began. Milo Scott stayed in Gary for a week, and he saw Ellen every night. Ellen's mother and father warned, "Be careful. Big bosses don't go out with factory girls unless they want something."

That had been Ellen's attitude at the beginning, but Milo changed her mind. He was a perfect gentleman at all times,

and the truth finally dawned on Ellen: He really enjoys being with me.

Where Milo was shy and reserved, Ellen was forthright and open. All his life, Milo had been surrounded by women whose burning ambition was to become a part of the powerful Scott dynasty. They had played their calculating games. Ellen

Dudash was the first totally honest woman Milo had ever met.

She said exactly what was on her mind. She was bright, she was attractive, and, most of all, she was fun to be with. By the end of the week, they were both falling in love.

"I want to marry you," Milo said. "I can't think about anything else. Will you marry me?"

"No."

Nor had Ellen been able to think about anything else. The truth was that she was terrified. The Scotts were as close as

America could come to royalty. They were famous, rich, and powerful. I don't belong in their circle. I would only make a fool of myself. And of Milo. But she knew she was fighting a losing battle.

They were married by a justice of the peace in Greenwich,

Connecticut, and then took a trip to Manhattan so that Ellen

Dudash could meet her in-laws.

Byron Scott greeted his brother with, "What the fuck have you done—marry a Polish hooker? Are you out of your mind?"

Susan Scott was just as ungiving. "Of course she married

Milo for his money. When she finds out he doesn't have any,

we'll arrange an annulment. This marriage will never last."

They badly underestimated Ellen Dudash.

"Your brother and sister-in-law hate me, but I didn't marry them. I married you. I don't want to come between you and Byron. If this is making you too unhappy, Milo, say so,

and I'll leave."

He took his bride in his arms and whispered, "I adore you,

and when Byron and Susan really get to know you, they'll adore you too."

She held him closely and thought: How naive he is. And how

I love him.

Byron and Susan were not unpleasant to their new sister-in-law. They were patronizing. To them, she would always be the little Polish girl who worked in one of the

Scott factories.

Ellen studied, and read, and learned. She watched how the wives of Milo's friends dressed, and copied them. She was determined to become a fit wife to Milo Scott, and in time she succeeded. But not in the eyes of her in-laws. And slowly her naivete turned to cynicism. The rich and powerful aren't all that wonderful, she thought. All they want is to be richer and more powerful.

Ellen was fiercely protective of Milo, but there was little she could do to help him. Scott Industries was one of the few privately held conglomerates in the world, and all the stock belonged to Byron. Byron's younger brother was a salaried employee, and he never let Milo forget it. He treated his brother shabbily. Milo was given all the dirty jobs to do, and was never given any credit.

"Why do you put up with it, Milo? You don't need him. We could move away from here. You could start your own business."

"I couldn't leave Scott Industries. Byron needs me."

But in time, Ellen came to understand the real reason.

Milo was weak. He needed someone strong to lean on. She knew then that he would never have the courage to leave the company.

All right, she thought fiercely. One day the company will be his. Byron can't live forever. Milo is his only heir.

When Susan Scott announced that she was pregnant, it was a blow to Ellen. The baby's going to inherit everything.

When the baby was born, Byron said, "It's a girl, but I'll teach her how to run the company."

The bastard, Ellen thought. Her heart ached for Milo.

All Milo said was, "Isn't she a beautiful baby?"

The pilot of the Lockheed Lodestar was worried. "A front is closing in. I don't like the look of it." He nodded to the co-pilot."Take over." Then he left the cockpit to go back to the cabin.

There were five passengers on board besides the pilot and co-pilot: Byron Scott, the brilliant, dynamic founder and chief executive officer of Scott Industries; his attractive wife, Susan; their year-old daughter, Patricia; Milo Scott,

Byron's younger brother; and Milo's wife, Ellen. They were flying in one of the company planes from Paris to Madrid.

Bringing the baby had been a last-minute impulse on Susan's part.

"I hate to be away from her for so long," she had told her husband.

"Afraid she'll forget us?" he had teased. "All right.

We'll take her with us."

Now that World War II was over, Scott Industries was rapidly expanding into the European market. In Madrid, Byron

Scott would investigate the possibilities of opening a new steel mill.

The pilot approached him.

"Excuse me, sir. We're heading into some thunder clouds.

It doesn't look very good ahead. Do you want to turn back?"

Byron looked out the small window. They were flying through a gray mass of cumulus clouds, and every few seconds distant lightning illuminated them. "I have a meeting in

Madrid tonight. Can you go around the storm?"

"I'll try. If I can't, then I'm going to have to turn us around."

Byron nodded. "All right."

"Would you all fasten your seat belts, please?"

The pilot hurried back to the cockpit.

Susan had heard the conversation. She picked up the baby and held her in her arms, suddenly wishing she had not brought her along. I've got to tell Byron to have the pilot turn back, she thought.

"Byron—"

They were suddenly in the eye of the storm and the plane began to buck up and down, caught in the gusting winds. The motion began to grow more violent. Rain was smashing against the windows. The storm had closed off all visibility. The passengers felt as though they were riding on a rolling cotton sea.

Byron flicked down the intercom switch. "Where are we,

Blake?"

"We're fifty-five miles northwest of Madrid, over the town of Ávila."

Byron looked out the window again. "We'll forget Madrid tonight. Let's turn around and get the hell out of here."

"Roger."

The decision was a fraction of a second too late. As the pilot started to bank the plane, a mountain peak loomed suddenly in front of him. There was no time to avoid the crash. There was a rending tear, and the sky exploded as the plane tore into the side of the mountain, ripping apart,

scattering chunks of fuselage and wings along a high plateau.

After the crash there was an unnatural silence that lasted for what seemed an eternity. It was broken by the crackle of flames starting to lick at the undercarriage of the plane.

"Ellen—"

Ellen Scott opened her eyes. She was lying under a tree.

Her husband was bending over her, lightly slapping her face.

When he saw that she was alive, he said, "Thank God."

Ellen sat up, dizzy, her head throbbing, every muscle in her body aching. She looked around at the obscene pieces of wreckage that had once been an airplane filled with human bodies, and shuddered.

"The others?" she asked hoarsely.

"They're dead."

She stared at her husband. "Oh, my God! No!"

He nodded, his face tight with grief. "Byron, Susan, the baby, the pilots, everyone."

Ellen Scott closed her eyes again and said a silent prayer. Why were Milo and I spared? she wondered. It was hard to think clearly. We have to go down and get help. But it's too late. They're all dead. It was impossible to believe.