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Irene slipped her nightdress off her shoulders and Adam thoroughly tested her heart and took her blood-pressure. He also went over her chest.

Emma felt that she was back in her hospital days, attending the doctor at an examination.

It was all as Adam suspected, since he had previously given Irene a thorough check-up. Her slightly raised heart rate and blood-pressure were normal in the circumstances.

When Irene reached out for her bed-jacket which lay nearby, she said urgently, 'I'd like to talk to you.' Her voice quivered, but it was demanding.

Emma hastened, 'I'll wait for you downstairs, Adam.' The name slipped out and she realised immediately that it would make Irene suspicious, so she hastened to say, 'I think we can cut out the formality. . .'

Adam picked up the message and answered instantaneously, 'I was going to suggest it. . . Yes, I'll see you when I've had a talk with Irene.'

Irene looked from face to face. She knew she didn't want Emma to get too friendly with Adam. She wanted his attention focused on
her.
Emma was well—she
didn't need
support.

'It's been a dreadful day,' she began as Adam drew up a chair and sat beside the bed. 'I've never felt so ill. . .I was afraid.'

'Being shut in a dark airless cupboard is not calculated to make anyone feel exactly well,' he said drily, his attitude deliberate.

Immediately she raised her voice to a fearsome shriek. 'I didn't want to be in the cupboard. . .but it was safe. And Emma was away so long.' Her words dropped to a whisper. 'And I didn't want to see the cars-—to
remember.'

'Sometimes it is imperative
to
remember,' he told her gently, but firmly, 'and to make friends with remembering.' He was watching the varying expressions on her face, the curious intensity with which she was studying him, and trying to form an unprejudiced opinion rather than a snap judgement. But the operative words that struck him were: '
And Emma was away so long.'

He asked abruptly, disarmingly, 'And would you have gone in the cupboard had Emma not been away so long?'

She looked startled and uneasy.

'You didn't go in the cupboard to begin with,' he suggested tentatively. His gaze was steady and inescapable.

But her answer was firm and convincing. 'It's only when I get frightened and terrified that I go in the cupboard.'

He said immediately, 'So this has happened before?'

She hesitated.

'Irene ' he leaned towards her '—I can't help you if you are not honest with me.'

Her answer shattered him.

'Emma hasn't known. I've not stayed there. This time I—I was too paralysed with fear to come out.'

'But you knew Emma was home,' he persisted, his judgement warning him that she had been seeking sympathy. 'Why did you remain in the cupboard this time—so that Emma would know, when previously she was in ignorance of your movements?'

Irene lowered her gaze and dropped her chin resistantly. Then she answered a trifle hysterically, 'I don't always know why I do things.'

Adam persisted firmly, 'You didn't like Emma being late.'

She flushed and her voice was defiant. 'I worry.' She hastened on, 'I thought you understood.' It was in the nature of an accusation.

Adam pondered, with a degree of anxiety, that the gulf between understanding and assessment was wide and difficult. He knew that reason would not serve him well at this stage. It would not fight tension and irrationality.

'I'm better now,' came the sudden jerky announcement. 'I want to get up.' Her voice had regained its strength.

Adam left her and joined Emma in the sitting-room. She looked at him appealingly and received his assurance that Irene had recovered her composure. Silently she conveyed the impression that she wasn't satisfied.

He held her gaze steadily, unnervingly, and she was conscious of him as Adam Templar, and not the doctor who was on duty. It annoyed her that, used to men as she had always been, she could not dismiss Adam as just another one with whom she had to be in contact. His presence filled the room; she was aware of his every movement and the intonation of his deep voice. She wanted to argue with him, accuse him of not understanding Irene's case, recalling everything that had passed between them earlier.

He said suddenly, abruptly, 'Emma, we've got to pull together where Irene's concerned.'

His gaze was upon her, intent, unsettling.

And at that moment the telephone rang. She answered it.

It was a call from the Standard Agency and the name escaped her, alerting Adam.

There was a short conversation which she ended by saying firmly, 'I'm afraid I'm not available at the moment.' She replaced the receiver and met Adam's critical gaze, which was steady and inescapable.

He said almost sharply, 'It would be a wise move if you employed a carer periodically for Irene.'

She could not ignore his formidable power, and her voice rose as she flashed back, 'And a move I have no intention of making.'

Adam's
expression hardened. He told himself that he was mad to involve himself with Irene's case beyond the bounds of duty. His voice was cold and inflexible as he exclaimed, 'Then I shall not discuss the matter further.'

Womanlike, Emma felt rejected, and relented slightly as she hastened to say, 'We have a friend, Marion Foster, who does, when needed, keep Irene company while I go out.'

'As far as I can tell, that hasn't happened since I've known you.' It was in the nature of an accusation. They looked at each other stormily.

The ringing of the telephone cut through the argument. Emma answered it and heard an unknown female voice say urgently, 'This is Dr Meyhew—is Dr Templar with you?'

Emma had a mental picture of the attractive girl she had seen at the surgery, and her nerves tingled. She said swiftly, 'Yes, one moment.' She shot Adam a quizzical glance and handed him the receiver.

He took it, alert to the possibility of trouble as he said, with what Emma thought was warmth, 'Judy! Mrs Gibbons—no, of course you can't leave surgery. I'll go at once. We can't take any chances. . .I'll see you later.'

Emma watched Adam's expression and took notice of the subtle friendliness of his voice. He quickly replaced the receiver and explained as he went hurriedly from the room, 'A coronary patient. Judy's got a heavy surgery. Afraid I rather left her in the lurch,' he added disjointedly as he reached the front door. 'She copes wonderfully.' His voice was full of praise.

Irene appeared on the stairs, but Adam didn't notice her. Emma remained speechless as she stood and watched him hurry to his car and heard his hasty goodbye. She found that, despite herself, she envied the comradeship he had with Dr Meyhew, for there was an appreciation in the tone of his voice as he had spoken of her which implied understanding. She asked herself why it was that she herself wanted to oppose almost his every word as though he were the enemy. A little bleak feeling of disgust went over her as she closed the front door. Why give it such importance? He was, after all, only Irene's doctor.

Irene had recovered, but looked pale. There was disappointment in her voice as she made her way to her customary chair out of range of the windows and said wistfully, 'I thought he would stay.'

Emma explained.

Irene said pointedly, 'Adam thinks a lot of Dr Meyhew.'

'So you've said before.' Emma's voice had an edge to it. The name of Dr Meyhew had acquired significance.

Irene subjected Emma to a studied gaze. 'Who was the other telephone call from?'

Emma didn't hesitate. 'The Standard,' she said directly.

'Oh!' It was a bleak sound.

Emma stiffened her resolve. It was as though the ghost of Adam stood beside her.

'I shall have to work again soon, Irene. The Standard know my circumstances and have been very understanding, but there are limits and I don't want them to take me off their books.' She added with a degree of firmness, 'Marion will '

Irene cried out, 'Don't talk about it now. . .I feel so shaky.' There was a wan, pathetic look about her as she rushed on, 'I wonder what Dr Meyhew is like. Adam is always very enthusiastic about her. . .'

Emma tried to curb the irritation that was building up. As had already been made obvious, Adam must discuss Dr Meyhew with Irene. What was wrong with that? But she felt suddenly shut out, wondering about the extent of Adam's confidences. She heard again the warmth of his voice as he spoke the few words to Dr Meyhew, his 'I'll see you later' suggesting a note of intimacy and having a significance. Obviously there was an understanding between them—they worked together. Perhaps they were in love. Emma's racing thoughts brought a sudden disgust. Why on earth was she thinking along such lines? What did it matter? It had nothing whatsoever to do with her.

It was about an hour later that the telephone rang and Emma heard Adam's deep rich voice with a sense of shock.

'Just to say I'm sorry about my hasty exit,' he said apologetically. 'I had intended to see Irene again.'

Emma wondered if Dr Meyhew was in the room with him as he spoke, and answered smoothly, 'I'll give your patient your apologies. Actually she was coming down the stairs as you left.'

At the other end of the telephone Adam was aware of Emma's formal voice and an inward fury possessed him. She had the perfect knack of wrongfooting him on every occasion and he was irritated because he was unable to dismiss her from his thoughts, to view her merely as the sister of his patient, knowing he had made Irene an excuse for ringing.

'I hope,' Emma said without quite knowing why, 'that your heart patient '

He put in immediately, 'A false alarm, thank God.'

The thought flashed through Emma's mind that everything about Adam suggested a caring doctor.

'I'm glad.' She relaxed. There was something intimate about the sudden silence. He might have been in the room with her and she felt that her thoughts were noisy as she wondered what he was going to do that evening.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, 'I'm going to the theatre this evening.'

The words chilled her. In a flash the past rushed back and she felt the heavy weight of guilt because the last theatre tickets she had bought had indirectly been responsible for the death of her parents.

'Where?' The word came jerkily.

Adam immediately read her thoughts and was reminded of the theatre's association with her parents' death.

'The Royal, here,' he hastened, as though having committed a
faux pas.
'Irene is all right?'

Emma flashed Irene an anxious glance as though she was aware of what was being discussed. They had been inveterate theatre-goers before the accident and the famous Theatre Royal in Thames Street, with its wide repertoire from Shakespeare to the first production of new works which subsequently transferred to London, had been almost a weekly habit.

'Much better.'

Adam broke off, 'Just one moment '

Emma heard him speak away from the microphone and utter the name 'Judy'. So, Emma thought, she was with him. Was she joining him for the evening? It was, she mused, rather absurd to imagine his going to the theatre alone. After all, she knew nothing of his private life. And why should; she? Their discussion and argument earlier that day had opened up a more personal note,' and his insistence that he would repeat the dinner invitation was like leaving a hitherto closed door ajar.

His words at the other end of the line were faintly audible as his conversation with Judy ended. 'Until later, then. . .bye.'

His voice was suddenly strong, 'Sorry about that, Emma.'

'I hope you enjoy the evening!' she exclaimed, the innuendo not lost on him. She didn't quite know why she was irritated by his apparent secrecy. Why couldn't he say with whom he was going out? As against that, why should he? She felt embarrassed by her own naïveté.

His voice was light. 'Thank you.' He paused, then, 'Don't forget what was said today.'

'I made myself quite clear.' The words were clipped. 'But I mustn't keep you.'

He ignored that with, 'I think it was mutual, as I've suggested.' His low compelling voice echoed insinuatingly.

'Goodbye, Adam.' There was almost a note of dismissal in her tone. She put the receiver down.

Irene said sharply, 'Why are you so cold to Adam? Oh, yes, you are. You always seem as though you'd like to quarrel with him.' Her voice dropped as she added suspiciously, 'Is it because he attracts you and you don't want to admit it?'

Emma gave a little shrill ridiculing laugh.

'Of all the idiotic things to say! He's the last man.' Emma's pulse had quickened.

Irene looked rebellious.

'Then remember that it isn't fair to me to behave as you do! I need him, and if you make things difficult he'll not come here so often. . .' Her voice faltered. 'I'd like us to be
friends
.' She caught her breath and looked pathetic.

Emma saw the danger signal and hastened, 'Of course he'll always come here; he's concerned with getting you well.' She added tensely, 'It's his job.'

Irene burst out, looking suspicious, 'You see? The way you said that, as though you resented and disliked him. . .yet you suddenly call him Adam.' Her eyes narrowed, 'And when did you start calling him Adam? You used his name so easily this afternoon. . . Where was I when you decided? You were almost embarrassed too.' She puckered her brows, 'I don't understand.'

Emma, aware that she was on dangerous ground, exclaimed lightly, 'Don't let's get this out of proportion. . .all I want is your welfare.' The words sounded stilted, but she knew she could not give a true explanation and was therefore at a disadvantage. The important thing was to change the subject without it appearing too obvious.

But Irene's gaze still had an element of suspicion. Then, as though the thought had just flashed through her mind, she exclaimed with a disarming directness, 'Don't you like Dr Meyhew?'

For once Emma rebelled. 'Oh! For goodness' sake, don't be so absurd. What has Dr Meyhew to do with me?'