Unknown (9 page)

She felt emotion stir and an intense awareness of him possess her. The fact that she was there having dinner with him, after all that had been said, seemed a little unreal. And why, even in that harmonious atmosphere, should she want to contradict, or question, everything he said?

The champagne was poured at that moment, and when they were alone, he raised his glass, looked at her intently and said, 'To one of many in the future.' And as he spoke, he wondered why he felt so involved. Why, when she irritated and challenged him, he found himself desiring her company, even in those moments when he was most critical. He didn't resolve his own questions, and settled for the fact that any man would be pleased to have Emma on his arm; that her beauty and charm were answer enough.

Emma sipped, but didn't speak. For the moment she was happy. It was, after all, a refreshing change to be out with a man as attractive as Adam. She liked his air of authority; the way he conducted himself and dealt with the waiters. He had an ease of manner that was part of his charm, and her thoughts strayed to the identity of other women with whom he had dined. Again, Judy Meyhew insinuated herself. She could imagine her being effervescent, witty and excellent company—someone, in fact, on his wavelength. She wanted to mention her, but did not know how, without seeming to be inquisitive. But at last she said boldly, 'Do Dr Bryant and Dr Meyhew come here?'

His expression changed.

'Yes, we all come here.'

That told her nothing and she felt it to have been his intention.

In that second, he put down his napkin and said smoothly, 'Will you excuse me? I promised to telephone Judy.'

Emma didn't know why her heart sank and she felt suddenly so resentful. Couldn't he even go out to dinner without contacting her? It surely was not necessary practice-wise. And in any emergency, were she on duty, she could ring him. She tried to ignore the matter, but every second he was away seemed an hour. He was smiling when he returned and Emma felt shut out.

'My apologies,' he said as he sat down, his attitude inscrutable.

Emma let the conversation continue for a short while before, consumed with curiosity, she asked, 'Is Dr Meyhew on duty?'

Adam felt a resistance to the enquiry and said rather curtly, 'No.' He studied her intently. 'Edmund is on.' He shot the question at her, 'Why?'

Emma flushed. She felt that he must be reading her thoughts and know that she was wondering why it was necessary for him to be telephoning Judy Meyhew otherwise.

'No reason,' she answered, betraying slight confusion.

He changed the subject abruptly.

Emma recalled all that Irene had said about Adam, Judy Meyhew and herself, and tensed.

At that moment Adam smiled an acknowledgement to a couple just taking their seats at a table at the far end of the room.

'Roy Wayne and his sister,' he explained. 'Solicitor patient of ours. . . You look solemn.'

'I was thinking of Irene,' she replied unguardedly.

'Ah.'

They looked at each other and emotion flared. There was always an underlying current of dissent when her name was mentioned.

'A truce, Emma.'

'I haven't forgotten.'

He dared to say, 'But you haven't relaxed this evening.' His deep voice made denial impossible.

She let her gaze rest in his. 'Perhaps there are too many warring elements.'

'Which,' he said boldly, 'you create, Emma.'

He gave her name significance and she knew she liked the sound of it on his lips, but nevertheless rose to the challenge, 'Because we are at odds about Irene.'

'Because you have no faith in my professional assessment.' It was a plain and deliberate statement of fact.

She didn't contradict him, merely said, 'Time will provide the ultimate answer.'

'Time,' he echoed in a low soft voice, 'answers all our questions and inevitably solves all our problems.' He held her gaze unnervingly.

She exclaimed impetuously, 'Your life would appear to be devoid of problems.'

'Is that a calculated assessment?' He shot the question at her.

'Based on. . She hesitated.

'Gossip,' he said in disgust.

'Falling
back on platitudes, a question of smoke. . .
no smoke
without fire.' Her voice had an edge to it.

He looked annoyed and she retreated slightly. It struck
her
that he had no intention of betraying anything
about
his private life, or discussing those with whom
he
was involved. She didn't know why it seemed so important to discuss Judy Meyhew and to know the facts of their relationship.

He changed the subject completely.

'You would make an excellent practice nurse.' He looked at her thoughtfully.

'On what do you base that assessment?' Her expression was questioning.

'Instinct. And the fact that we need a practice nurse,' he added with a smile.

She tensed. The very last thing she could imagine was working for him.

She didn't hesitate. 'You and I would never work together.' The words were out before she intended.

His dark eyes met hers and emotion flared between them; they were on dangerous ground.

'That,' he said, still holding her gaze, 'is a wild statement. Substantiate it.'

'A diversity of viewpoints. We don't really speak the same language, a subject we have already touched on this evening.'

'Your conception of me is a challenge,' he warned her. 'One you tempt me to accept.'

His words echoed between them, making them physically conscious of each other and aware that their truce hung by a frail thread.

She wondered how many other women he had brought to the Manor and played with words until they became a temptation.
Temptation
! The word had a
dangerous significance and she realised that was exactly what he was: a man who could convey far more than he honestly felt. Wasn't it enough that he obviously was involved with Judy Meyhew and yet was ready to flirt with her, Emma, should she give him even the faintest encouragement? Hadn't he already kissed her? And wasn't she being naive to give any of it importance? They were out to dinner and this was all part of the scene.

'I'm in no mood for a challenge,' she said coolly. 'A quiet, amiable truce goes well with the evening.'

'You make it sound like a rice pudding instead of a soufflé.' There was a note of lightness in his voice.

She wanted to suggest that he would excel at the soufflé, but was not sure enough of herself to take the conversation into deeper waters.

Their gaze met above the rims of their glasses as they finished their champagne.

'You're an enigma, Emma.'

'Better that than an open book,' she cut back. She added, putting her glass down with a little deliberate gesture, 'I have nothing about which to be an enigma.' She stared him out. 'The same could not be said of you.'

He gave her an indulgent smile.

'If it pleases you to believe that.' His manner changed.

There was a tension between them as the meal finished and he said, glancing at his watch, 'I have a late call to make. . .'

Had that, she asked herself, anything to do with his telephoning earlier? She had only the gossip and the growing belief that he was involved with Judy Meyhew. Why was she so anxious to know the facts? What did it matter to her what their relationship was? Or even if it were more than purely professional?

Pierre saw them out, discreet, charming. Emma felt that she had not been particularly gracious as she walked beside Adam to his car, conscious of his nearness and of his features etched against the moon. It was a warm night; a time for beginnings, not endings, she thought, and felt her body heat as emotion touched her like a flame. She felt the touch of his hand on her arm as she was about to get into the car seat, and for an instant their eyes met. She thought he was going to kiss her, so close was his face to hers, and she found that she was trembling. But instead of that he drew back and said, 'Thank you for this evening.'

Her heart was thumping as he got in beside her and turned on the ignition. His manner was charming and polite; he might have already forgotten her presence.

When finally he parted from her with a formal, 'Goodnight, Emma,' she watched him drive away, curiously depressed. Was he going to see Judy Meyhew?

It was
two days later when Emma, shopping in the High Street, saw in the near distance Adam and Judy Meyhew going into the Castle Hotel, obviously for coffee. They were smiling at each other and radiated a certain excited happiness as though sharing some special item of news, or even a secret. She wondered what would happen were she to follow and force Adam to introduce her.

At that moment a voice from behind her said, 'We are destined to meet like this!'

Emma turned and looked into Ruth Templar's smiling eyes. For a second she stood there, incapable of thinking of anything more original to say than, 'Oh! Hello.' Then the words rushed out, 'I've just seen your brother and Dr Meyhew go into the Castle Hotel.' She gave the fact importance.

Ruth laughed. Her snap judgement of Emma had been of someone almost ill at ease with Adam, and even her utterance of his name appeared to have significance.

'Shall we join them?' She might have known Emma for years, and Emma envied her that relaxed cheerful manner and the obvious fact that she was free from care.

Emma didn't know why she said immediately, 'I hardly think that would be popular.'

Ruth laughed. 'They have a great deal to discuss and arrange. . . I'm looking forward to Sunday.'

Emma nodded and tried to sound enthusiastic. 'So am I. One can hardly carry on a conversation in a busy street. . .' But her thoughts were concentrated upon Ruth's words, 'They have a great deal to discuss and arrange.' The words that naturally followed were 'such as. . .' Yet wasn't it natural for two partners in a practice? Cases, problems. . . But what had they to
arrange
? Unless, Emma told herself, it was an engagement party. In any case, it was no. business of hers. She came out of her reverie, aware that Ruth's gaze was upon her almost questioningly.

'How did you like the Manor restaurant?' Ruth asked unexpectedly.

So! Adam had told Ruth of their going, and Emma ridiculed herself for even thinking that he would do otherwise. Taking a woman out to dinner was an ordinary enough pastime.
_;

'Very much. It has atmosphere and is obviously well run.'

Ruth nodded. Emma's voice was strained and, Ruth thought, she seemed distracted. The circumstances surrounding her life, Ruth reflected, were hardly conducive to merriment.

Adam had put Ruth in the picture, so far as was within the ethics of his profession, when it came to the situation regarding the Sinclairs, so that she knew about Irene's agoraphobia and the tragic death of the parents. Obviously Emma's life was not an easy one.

'We
all
like it,' Ruth enthused, 'but I mustn't delay you.'

Emma criticised herself for the fact that she was grateful to escape.

'Until Sunday,' she said lightly, and they parted.

Emma found herself envying Ruth her obvious happiness and freedom. She recalled Adam's words when he had been discussing Ruth and how a certain Paul Knight would like to marry her.
Marry:
it was a word she only associated with other people, never herself, and she accepted the fact that Irene was like a child for whom she was responsible, curtailing freedom completely. She hurried over the thought that she had no real faith in Adam's ability to effect a cure, and that she was opposed to his theories in general.

It struck her as she did her shopping, buying canapés, nuts, olives, that she was making Sunday an occasion. Yet why? Because the visit was pre-arranged and social, whereas previously Adam had been to the house 'looking in', or specifically to visit his patient.

It was the first time since the accident that a newcomer, by way of Ruth, had been to the house, and she felt almost apprehensive on the actual Sunday morning when she arranged the various dishes and glasses in readiness for Adam and Ruth's arrival. She was acutely aware of Irene who seemed to be in a daze, following her about dog-like and saying grudgingly, 'We might be giving a party.'

Emma was alerted with a sudden self-criticism. It struck her that subconsciously she was making the effort
because Adam was coming
and she wanted to show him that she could enter into gaiety if the occasion arose. The memory of the dinner haunted her and she felt that she had been a dull and somewhat truculent guest, while his formality at the end of the evening almost suggested that he had lost interest in the whole proceedings—probably, she argued, thinking he was mad to have wasted his time on her when he could have been with Judy Meyhew. As against that, no one forced him originally to ask her out to dinner, and he had been very persistent that she should join him.

Irene gave a sudden gasp when the various bottles were set out on a silver tray.

'We used to do this when Daddy and Mummy were here!' It was a cry of nostalgia. 'Is all this for
him?'

Emma felt her cheeks flush.

'It's a courtesy,' she said hastily, studying Irene anxiously, noticing her restlessness and slightly wild expression.

'Dinner with him and now drinks—all in a week!' Irene exclaimed pointedly.

Emma
was defensive. 'A welcome for his sister.'

Irene
felt empty. She took a savoury biscuit, sighed, sat
down and
looked at the clock.

'Another five minutes,' she exclaimed in a low voice, doom-ridden. 'I hate waiting for people. They'll be late. Doctors are always late.' It was said resentfully.

But Adam and Ruth were not late and they came in bringing an atmosphere of gaiety as Ruth said, looking at the cut glass decanters which the sun illuminated, 'How inviting this is.' She was aware of Irene as she spoke, and greeted her warmly. Irene made a tentative gesture as Adam introduced her.