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His words hung between them with a strange significance and their eyes met in a long, questioning look.

Adam stood there, his body tensing, emotion like a flame as he knew suddenly, and with an almost mocking certainty, that he was in love with her. It was true that he did not kiss
women.
He had kissed the woman he loved; the woman who had insinuated herself into his life as the sister of his patient and slowly, challengingly, awakened a passion and intensity of feeling that left him shocked and helpless before its power. He had no illusions as he contemplated the situation: he was the last man to whom she would be attracted; there was animosity in almost every look she gave him and her loyalty to Irene destroyed any possibility of a compromise, he thought desperately.

Emma felt both ungracious and uncomfortable. No matter how diverse their opinions, she knew that his duty to his patient would always take precedence. She said, her love for him transcendent so that she did not want to part on an alien note, 'I'm so glad about Ruth and Paul.'

'Your timely remark had a magical effect.' He held her gaze, trying to maintain a composure he was far from feeling, and grateful for a lull in their stormy argument.

'The magic must have been there, just beneath the surface,' she said quietly. In a flash the thought streaked through her mind: what would he do when Ruth and Paul were married? Where would he live and what would be the pattern of his life? She did not give undue credence to his almost bitter announcement that he would not be likely to be engaged, either now or in the near future. He met so many people and was extremely popular. She heard his words with a sickening fear: 'I shall probably turn up—married!' A shudder made her icy cold; the possibility devastated her.

The words escaped him unconsciously. 'I'm glad you were there to enjoy a little of the celebration. It was good to see you relaxed and laughing.'

That remark, she thought, the spark of anger rising, was tantamount to saying that normally she was neither.

'Irene doesn't prevent my relaxing or laughing.' The words were out before she could stay them, the atmosphere changing.

Adam dared not trust himself to argue with her. Passion, love, desire inflamed him and he just looked at her, a cool air of dismissal in his voice as, walking to the door, he said, 'Goodnight, Emma. I'll see myself out.' And before she could do more than murmur a weak response he was gone, leaving the house silent and empty.

Irene's voice calling her dragged Emma back to reality.

The sound of Adam's car driving away was a depressing intrusion on the heavy silence, but Emma put on a cheerful face as she went into Irene's bedroom, where Irene had awakened from a peaceful sleep.

'Was that Adam's car?' she asked.

'Yes.' Emma felt self-conscious even at the sound of his name.

Irene looked at her bedside clock.

'It's nearly ten,' she said. 'Adam was here quite a while.'

Emma did not want Irene to think they had been talking about her, so she said, 'Ruth and Paul Knight became engaged tonight.' She hoped that would prevent any further questioning.

'Was that why they asked you this evening—to celebrate?' Irene seemed wide awake and ready to talk.

'No. It was a surprise.' Emma didn't want to go into details which, if repeated, would sound bizarre.

Irene raised herself against the pillows and adjusted them for comfort.

'Adam won't be able to go on living there,' she said practically, and sipped some water from a glass on the bedside table. 'I'm so thirsty. . .I always get thirsty when I'm not well.' She might have been talking to a stranger, wanting to discuss her symptoms.

Emma shut her thoughts against the uncomfortable realisation that Irene was completely self-centred. It gave credibility to all that Adam had said and in which he believed. She argued, almost fiercely, that he wasn't
with
Irene on a day-to-day basis, and therefore could not judge the whole picture. Nevertheless Emma found herself railing against the breaking up of the first evening she had been free, apart from dinner with Adam.

'We'll settle down for the night,' she said crisply. She looked at Irene reflectively. 'You have the ability to go to sleep at any time,' she said unexpectedly.

Instantly, Irene gasped, 'Is that a criticism?' Her voice was shaky.

Emma knew that there had been an element of criticism and was shocked by it. 'Just an observation,' she answered quickly.

'When you live in turmoil, you're glad to escape into peace when you can,' came the rather weary announcement. 'Do you grudge me it?' There was a sad note in the question.

Emma was at a loss to understand her own mood, but she realised that loving Adam automatically ensured that she gave greater credence to his judgement, and that some of his pronouncements filtered through to find ready acceptance. She shut her mind against the disturbing thoughts.

Irene didn't like the look on Emma's face. She thought, immediately scared, that it lacked its usual gentleness, and she cried out, 'You're cross with me for spoiling your evening. . . I've never seen you like this before.'

Emma had not been prepared for Irene's perception. Guilt touched her as she replied, 'The evening is my last worry.' It was as near the truth as she could get.

It struck her that Adam was a disruptive influence altogether.

'I'm a worry.' It was said apologetically and wanly.

All the compassion and sympathy of which Emma was capable surged to change her mood. Once she began to think of herself and weigh up the situation as it affected her own life, all harmony would vanish and she would see Irene as a burden instead of a trust. A voice within her whispered that there was a happy medium which she had not thus far considered in her overwhelming desire to make Irene's life as pleasant as possible within its cruel limitations. Adam seemed to be standing beside her, his firmness and views reinforcing her own, while confirming her earlier assessment that he was a disruptive influence.

'I worry
about
you,' she managed to say quietly, 'which is not the same thing.'

Irene accepted that, almost as though it were her due. Emma was free; she could go out as had been emphasised that evening, but Irene did not want to face up to recognition of the sacrifices Emma made on her, Irene's, behalf. She did not want her mind beset with anxiety about Emma's life. She clung to the picture of two people living together harmoniously, even if in isolation, with only her own handicap relevant.

Emma was lucky not to have agoraphobia. Thus the matter became simple and she was spared remorse, or any kind of self-criticism. Just so long as they understood that she had made friends with her handicap, all was harmonious in her world. Adam talked of making her better when, in truth, she argued to herself, he wouldn't be needed if Emma were always there. As against that, she liked his visits but was beginning to get a little uneasy because of the change in his attitude to Emma, and hers to him. The idea of his becoming a force in Emma's life devastated her. She dared not even begin to think of Emma as a sexually attractive woman with whom any man might fall in love. And the last thing she wanted was for Emma to get involved with Ruth and her future husband. No one knew where that would lead. She swayed from that mood to the thought of tomorrow, Sunday. It would be a peaceful day and Emma would be there beside her, to listen to music, or watch anything of interest on television. Her mind would be tranquil and Emma would cook a splendid lunch. She gave a little sigh, which Emma was trained to recognise as representing satisfaction, but said apologetically, 'I do my best to worry you as little as possible. . .you are so good to me.' Her voice was solemn as she added unexpectedly, 'I'd have gone out of my mind without you.'

Emma did riot want to dwell on that—it had an element of truth about it, she thought, and was immediately back in the strait-jacket of responsibility.

Irene settled herself in the bed and raised her face for Emma's kiss.

'Thank you for being you,' she said softly and, smiling, closed her eyes.

Emma went quietly from the room. All that Adam had said about the mother and child swirled through her head.

When the telephone rang the following morning at about eleven o'clock, Irene cried, 'Don't let anyone spoil our day. . .I hate the telephone.'

Emma was surprised by her own reaction to the remark and said almost sharply, 'It's a contact with the world.' She picked up the receiver. Then, 'Adam!' Her voice was a trifle breathless.

'I wanted to make quite sure everything was all right.' Actually, the call was an excuse to speak to her.

He was certain that Irene would have fully recovered, content that Emma would be with her all day.

Emma's heartbeats quickened; she was aware of him with a passionate intensity, the memory of his kiss stirring emotions she could not control.

'I'm sure you are in no doubt of that,' she retorted, wanting to challenge him.

He sensed her mood and despised his own weakness in succumbing to the desire to hear her voice.

'One is not infallible, Emma.'

Why, she asked herself, did the sound of her name on his lips always have the power to stir her, bringing an intimacy that was sexual?

'I'm glad to hear you admit it,' she responded. For those few seconds she had forgotten Irene's presence and was suddenly aware of her intent gaze.

There was a momentary silence at the other end of the line. They might have been in the same room looking deeply into each other's eyes, so great was the impact.

'I've a matter I'd like to discuss with you,' he said unexpectedly.

'That sounds important.'

'It is. Could we meet somewhere for coffee early in the week?'

She didn't hesitate. 'Not a good idea.'

She did not want to pretend to Irene, who would suspect another shopping spell and naturally be curious—if not suspicious—and probably associate the outing with Adam, which would automatically involve her as a subject for conversation, since he had access to the house.

'Then I'll call in.' He was persistent.

'Do.'

'Probably on Thursday afternoon between surgeries.'

'You sound mysterious.' The words slipped out and she saw Irene's puzzled look.

'That's your fertile imagination. Thursday, then.'

'Very well. . . Goodbye.' She was abrupt because emotion tore at her and she felt trapped.

Irene said, as Emma replaced the receiver, 'That all seemed secretive and you were very brusque. . . I don't understand.'

Emma didn't want a re-run of previous conversations about Adam. There was a note of finality in her voice as, going out of the room, she exclaimed, 'Something Adam wants to discuss.'

Irene looked immediately apprehensive.

Emma awaited Thursday with trepidation, feeling that Adam must have something of importance to discuss that was outside the bounds of Irene's case, otherwise why should he have suggested a meeting in the town? It didn't add up and she hated suspense.

After lunch the following Thursday, Irene said petulantly, 'I don't like this visit. I'm suspicious.'

Emma tried to play down the drama as she reminded Irene that Adam had been free to come and go as he pleased, irrespective of his professional involvement, and that she, Irene, had always been ready to see him. It seemed important that she should support Adam, fearing the repercussions should Irene turn against him—a prospect not inconceivable should he thwart her. Emma could not see any light at the end of the tunnel of her own love for him and, when it came to it, their only contact was through Irene. It was doubly vital that such contact be maintained.

Adam arrived at three o'clock. Emma was tense and apprehensive, aware that he had an air of determination as he joined them in the sitting-room, having wrestled with the problem facing him and realising that it might have dangerous repercussions.

Irene broke the awkward silence.

'Is there a special reason why you're here? It seems formal and I don't need a visit.' There was an edge to her voice which betrayed her unease.

Adam knew that he had to be resolute; that he was taking a risk which, if it came off, might change the pattern of their lives. He had given the matter endless thought and realised that only some dramatic event was likely to affect Irene and force her out of her present isolated world. Discussion had failed, therefore action was called for. He went straight to the point, looking at Emma with an almost mesmeric gaze as he said startlingly, 'I'd be very grateful if you would take a case—a confinement—for me in July. Next month,' he added, as though that gave it reasonable distance.

An electric silence fell. Emma looked amazed, Irene shocked.

Emma echoed, 'Take a
case
?' It might have been a suggestion that she should go to the moon.

Adam took the fight to her as he said in a smooth, yet forceful voice, 'You are a nurse and it is not inconceivable that you should work again.'

Irene gave a little whimpering cry, but Adam addressed her firmly. 'I feel that with Marion always ready to take over and care for you ' his voice dropped to an encouraging, persuasive note '—you would be happy for Emma to be doing again the work she loves.' He added, 'It would be for three weeks,'

Irene was deaf to the appeal as she cried brokenly, 'I knew there would be something to hurt me, that you've lost all understanding and sympathy with me. . . Take Emma away and I'm alone in a world you don't know anything about '

Adam was not prepared to give ground as he exclaimed, 'And what about Emma's world?'

'So I'm a burden to her. . .is that what you're trying to say? To add a feeling of guilt to all I have to bear already?'

Emma was icy cold and inwardly shaking. So! This was why Adam had originally wanted to
see
her alone and, not having got his way, was on the attack.
Take a case for him.
Work with him. Something she would love. Despite Irene's distress it was like being given a glimpse of heaven as she accepted the fact of how deeply she missed her work—more so as she related it to her feelings for Adam.