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Adam didn't retreat.

'Three weeks ' he began.

Irene caught at her breath and tears gushed to her eyes.

'It wouldn't be just for three weeks! There'd be other cases. . . I ought to have died instead of Mummy and Daddy. They had each other—I've. . . Oh, Emma ' her voice broke '—I don't want to be a burden, I'm just so ill. It makes me ill. . .'

Emma's voice seemed to be strangled at the back of her throat as she tried to say with forcefulness, 'There is no question of my taking the case.' She met Adam's intent gaze. 'I'm amazed that you should suggest it.'

Irene gave a little cry of relief.

Adam felt defeated. He held Emma's gaze masterfully as he said, 'It was not done wholly because I would like you to work with me, but because it would change the pattern of life here, which, as a doctor, I feel to be vital.' He spoke with deliberation as though determined to make his point and allow Irene to view the picture he was indirectly painting, to reinforce all that he had been trying to convey since the spring. An appeal on Emma's behalf was the last card, he believed, left for him to play.

Emma fell back on anger, because emotion was so near the surface and the temptation he offered so great.

'You have my answer.'

Irene got to her feet. 'I don't want to talk to you any more,' she said woefully. 'We were happy until you came this afternoon.' With that she ran from the room.

The silence was electric as Adam and Emma faced each other.

'How
could
you?' Emma said accusingly. 'You must have known what the result would be.' She rushed on, 'Why must you always act as a challenge? You're a
doctor,
although your skills seem to be sadly lacking where Irene is concerned.'

He didn't rise to that, but asked, 'Would you like to take this case, Emma?' His voice was low and persuasive and her heart seemed to miss a beat.

'I loved my work,' she retorted evasively.

'I was particularising,' he persisted, holding her gaze masterfully.

'A dangerous pastime,' she shot at him.

'Not as dangerous as your life is at the moment,' he suggested.

'That is merely your opinion.'

'Which doesn't answer my question. I'll rephrase it. Would you have any objection to working with me?'

Emma knew that she had to keep her emotions in check.

'I don't see that has any bearing on the matter. To come here and suggest something that you knew would create panic is not my idea of professional excellence.' Her eyes flashed with anger. 'I shall return to work when I feel Irene can cope ' her voice sharpened '—and whether I like the doctor on the case or not will be irrelevant!'

The words hung dangerously between them. Each was conscious of the other and passion mounted.

Adam's words came sternly, 'You are not helping your sister '

Emma snapped, 'Neither are you.' There was bitterness and accusation in her tone. 'In fact you seem deliberately to provoke her these days, as though you were each fighting a different cause. I'm
with
her. I know the depths of her suffering and would do anything to keep her peaceful and as happy as is possible ' she made a helpless gesture '—but we have gone over all this, and this present suggestion of yours is—is. . .' She was lost for a phrase.

'A step in the right direction,' he insisted. 'A loosening of the reins which could lead to freedom '

'Freedom!' Emma exclaimed, her voice breaking. 'How can you have freedom in the face of an overwhelming fear? What it really boils down to is the fact that you believe Irene could overcome all this and that she and I are in some kind of conspiracy to keep her tied to the house, living this—this deadly life. . .' She broke off, her voice faltering. She added in a spurt of anger, 'And you'd do anything to prove yourself right.' It was a bitter accusation. 'Well! I think this last idea was unforgivable. I would never have believed you would act this way.'

Tension had mounted; they faced each other stormily, their love like a fire between them that nothing could extinguish.

He said very quietly, his low voice throbbing into the momentary silence and reaching her heart, stirring her senses, 'I acted in what I considered your sister's best medical interest.'

'Then,' she retorted, 'you are a very poor doctor!' She regretted the words the moment they were out, a sick sensation washing over her as she saw him flinch, then deliberately get to his feet.

'Then there is very little more to be said.' His voice was sharp and cold. He had never loved her more than in that moment, longing to take her in his arms and kiss her into submission.

She looked up at him, trembling. 'I—I. . .'

'We won't prolong this charade. It is obvious I have nothing more to give to Irene's case and I suggest that she sees Dr Bryant from now on.' He added with a touch of irony, 'You will find that your sister will not regret my going. We have been friends, but we are not looking at the same picture.'

Emma heard his words like a death knell. He stood there, a challenge, stern, decisive and physically attractive.

'But. . .' Her mouth was dry; the words she wanted to utter would not come as she got unsteadily to her feet and they faced each other, each thinking of that moment when he had kissed her and held her in his arms. A movement now, a gesture, and, she thought, she could be back there clinging to him, begging him not to go, telling him that she loved him until it hurt. Instead, she murmured weakly, 'If you feel like that. . .'

He looked down at her, holding her gaze in mesmeric passion.

'It isn't what I feel,' he said hoarsely, 'it's the fact that you have no faith in my judgement.' He dared not escape from anger, dared not allow her dark, appealing eyes to weaken him and thus invite her scorn.

She was left with nothing more to say. Where Irene was concerned their views were worlds apart.

She burst out in a last desperate cry, 'You don't understand!'

He gave a deep sigh.

'That's where you're wrong, Emma. I understand too well.'

Emma shivered.

'On that point we shall never agree.'

'That,' he said challengingly, 'remains to be seen.'

Pride came to her rescue as he challenged her and she drew on anger to see her through the agony of their parting.

As the front door shut behind him, she felt that he was taking her life with him.

Adam's
reflections as he drove back to the surgery were turbulent and disturbing. He had acted after due consideration and in the belief that only a definite stand would resolve Irene's condition. Now he realised that he had shut the door of hope behind him and, through her refusal to co-operate, jeopardised all possible contact with Emma in future. Emotion had wiped out reasoned thought, and in that moment he knew the agony of feeling Emma was lost to him. He'd been mad to think that she would leave Irene and nurse a case for him. Irene came first and was a trust.
A
groan escaped him, and yet he could not go against all his professional principles and compromise his beliefs for the sake of his love. He'd been crazy not to realise that this would be the result. If he'd left it a little longer. . . A wave of depression washed over him. The situation was harder to bear because he had created it. An overwhelming impulse came to him to turn back and retract his withdrawal from Irene's case, but he knew it was impossible, and drove on. He wondered how his partner would view his decision, since he had been instrumental in Adam's taking over professionally in the first place.

Edmund, however, looked him straight in the eye and said, astonished, 'I must trust your judgement, even if I'm not sure I agree with it.' His expression was quizzical as he added, 'You've given a lot to this case and I thought you had become friends with them both.'

Adam's voice held a note of bitterness as he exclaimed, 'That is not always a good thing.' He dropped his gaze.

'Ah,' came the immediate reply, 'you have something there. I'm the father figure,' he added. 'Altogether more comfortable.'

Adam had the instinctive feeling that Edmund suspected. In fact he felt that his love for Emma was written for all to see. In that moment he longed for a confidant to ease the misery within him and said, like an actor throwing a line away, 'I suggested that Emma took Mrs Thornton's case.'

Edmund Bryant looked amazed.

'Which she refused?' It was a question to which he sensed the answer.

'Yes.' Adam's voice rose slightly. 'She hasn't worked for some time and Marion Foster is always there to take over.'

Edmund's gaze was very direct. 'And that concerns you?'

Emotion gave Adam's voice a protesting note. 'She's a prisoner.'

Edmund didn't evade
the issue.

'Is it because of your disagreement with Emma, or with Irene, that you wish to hand the case back to me?'

'Both,' Adam answered honestly, meeting Edmund's wise grey eyes with directness. 'Irene's almost hysterical when it comes to Emma being with her, and Emma is the sacrificial lamb.'

Edmund looked grave. He had counted on Adam succeeding where he himself had failed.

'And you feel confident that Emma would have taken your case had Irene been happy for her to do so?'

Adam didn't hesitate.

'Why, yes.' He spoke confidently, telling himself that only Irene's condition and attitude were responsible for the dissension between him and Emma. The fact consoled
him.
His pulse quickened at the thought of her
and
their moments
of
intimacy, and a longing to hold her
in
his arms swept over him in a passionate
wave. But
he added
swiftly,
'Why do you ask?'

To make
sure I'm on the right track, since I am to be
back on
the case.'

Adam
admitted, 'I
seem
to have been high-handed over this. Edmund. I ought to have consulted you.' He
added
apologetically, 'I
'm
afraid I didn't think, and acted on the spur of the moment.'

Edmund accepted that and said significantly, 'One can become too involved.' His gaze was steady. 'Am I to take it that your visits to York Road will cease? That this goes deeper than a professional judgement?'

Adam could not dissemble.

'Yes,' he admitted, depression overwhelming him at the thought.

Edmund summed up sagely, 'No one can fight on two fronts.'

The remark was so apt that Adam retreated into silence.

It was a week later, when Emma had been shopping in the town, that she decided to have coffee, and walked towards the Castle Hotel. She did not quite understand her mood because she felt entitled to steal a few minutes' break. Irene was perfectly all right, she argued, and had seemed more composed since told that Dr Bryant was to return to her case. Emma recalled her words:
'When it came to it, Adam didn't understand me.'

Emma had reminded her that she had counted on him at one time, but had not pursued the matter when Irene had challenged her with, 'Your attitude to him had become very strange. You were always on the edge of a quarrel.'

Those words stung as she thought of them now, and a touch of defiance came over her. The fact that Adam was no longer in the picture filled her with unhappiness and she found herself wondering where he was; when, if ever, she would see him again. The break had been so abrupt and final, and it hurt her to reflect that she might, in different circumstances, have been looking forward to working on a case for him. So lost was she in her reverie that she didn't hear her name called until it was repeated a second time and she turned to meet Adam's intent gaze.

'You!' she said in a breath, her heart thumping.

Adam found that anger mingled with his immense pleasure at seeing her. Why couldn't she understand his motives and meet him halfway?

He held her gaze, conscious of the tension mounting between them.

'Have coffee with me,' he said directly, expecting her refusal.

Emma thought of their last meeting and parting. Now he seemed conciliatory, and she said in a breath, 'I was just going to have one.'

He wanted to ask if Marion was with Irene, but thought better of it. His nerves were taut and he didn't want to spoil the moment with dissension. He had wondered what their respective attitudes would be when they met again after that final scene.

They went into the hotel in silence, each conscious of the other and trying to look nonchalant. The ghost of Irene hovered as they sat down at their table and he gave the order to a waitress he knew. 'Dr Templar' was 'dishy' and well-liked. Emma was aware of this and she studied him as he spoke, with a courtesy that was part of his nature, and she found herself aching to be in his life, while furious with her own weakness. He had fought her every inch of the way over Irene and, by rights, she ought not to be sitting there with him as though they were on the friendliest of terms. Why had she accepted his offer? Why hadn't she made it plain that they had nothing in common except anger? It was ludicrous that they appeared to be in harmony when so much dissension lay between them. She should not have accepted his invitation, which had offered her a perfect opportunity to banish him from her life, making it quite plain that their association was over. As against that, why should he want her company after he had appeared to sever all connection between them?

And as Adam studied her, he knew that his one objective was to get her to work for him from time to time. And to achieve that they must keep in contact. Through work they could achieve a more intimate relationship. He sat there, suddenly determined that Irene should not be instrumental in parting them, no matter what role he had to play in order to achieve that end. He was not the type, he told himself, meekly to give in at the first hurdle. And if they could be professionally associated, who could hazard a guess about the future? But the momentary hope faded as he reminded himself that she would never leave her sister in Irene's present state.