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'I'd like to think that I could.' His voice was strong yet gentle.

Instantly she cried, 'Don't talk about going out!' There was a wild panic-stricken, expression in her eyes. 'Dr Bryant didn't mention it.' Her voice held an accusing note. 'I want to be
here,
not upset. Then I don't worry or get any funny feelings. I just want the days to come and go peacefully, so that I don't see my parents dead ' her voice was rising now and it broke as she finished '—or hear the crashing. . She stared him out, her eyes seeming to be all pupil, like large dark lamps. 'Emma keeps me safe,' she added almost on a note of defiance, as though she were being threatened. 'I haven't been out for a year,' she said finally and as though quite reconciled to the fact. She appeared to square her shoulders in a gesture of challenge.

Adam Templar stood up and, walking to her side, slid out his hand and felt her pulse. It was racing.

'You see,' she said, looking up at him knowingly, 'it doesn't help to—to talk. Why do doctors want to talk? Why can't I be left alone?' She gave a deep sigh. 'Now I'm all churned up; my nerves ' She stopped and looked at him accusingly, then, almost wildly, cried, 'It was good of you to come. . . Emma ' she called the name hysterically, and again '—
Emma!'

Emma appeared almost instantly, having been waiting in the hall. She went over to her sister and took her hand, looking at Adam Templar half accusingly.

He stood, looking grave. He did not speak, knowing that his presence was resented. By Irene Sinclair because she wanted to shut herself away from the past and reality, by Emma Sinclair because she was roused to anger that anyone or anything should upset her sister.

'I think,' he said with a quiet authority, 'there is no point in my taking this further now. But I would like to talk to you again at some other time.'

Emma was aware of a certain masterful air about him as he moved towards the door. He was not, she thought, a man to be dismissed or overlooked, and as he added swiftly, 'I'll see myself out,' she had an instinctive feeling that he would be back.

Fear shadowed the sunny March day.

Much to Emma's surprise, Dr Templar called the following week. He appeared at the door, saying brightly, 'I was passing and thought I'd see how things are.'

Emma's feelings were a mixture of irritation and pleasure, which she resisted.

Irene, hearing his voice at the front door, came out of the sitting-room as he stepped into the square hall with its carved chest and oblong table, on which stood a vase of artistically arranged daffodils and mauve tulips.

'Dr Templar,' she said in a breath, her eyes widening and then, to Emma's relief, brightening as she added unexpectedly and yet in keeping with her change of moods, 'We were just having coffee; won't you join us?'

He glanced at Emma, almost as though seeking approval, and she hastened, 'Please do.'

They went into the sitting-room and Emma served the coffee.

Adam Templar thought that; his being there was unpremeditated, but it had been as though he couldn't pass the house without going in. He noticed Emma's blue and white button-through dress with its wide blue belt, aware of her tiny waist and the outline of her firm rounded breasts. Irene wore trousers and a matching cream jumper. She was painfully thin—a fact which he had noted on their first meeting, but which registered cosmetically at that moment. He did not know what to expect from her, or even if the visit was advisable, knowing only that compulsion had come into his intrusion. He didn't seek to deny the fact that he wanted to see Emma Sinclair again, finding it difficult to erase her memory from his mind. He accepted that while she didn't betray any particular enthusiasm for his presence, neither did she appear to resent it.

At that moment he studied Irene as a patient. She was calm and, it seemed, friendly. Regarding him, no doubt, as a caller, but not as a visiting doctor.

'It's a lovely day,' she said unexpectedly, adding illuminatingly, 'Emma has a report to do and there's a good film on this afternoon.' She smoothed one hand over the other, her smile a little complacent.

It registered in Adam Templar's mind that so long as Emma was there with her, there was no trauma. Or was that too much of a snap judgement?

Emma was conscious of his gaze upon her, asking herself why he had called and hoping he would not bring anything medical into the proceedings. Yet if the visit was not professional, what category did it come into? Or did he feel that his partnership with Dr Bryant gave him automatic entry and that it was all part of a general relationship?

At that moment, Adam Templar had an overwhelming impulse to invite Emma out to dinner and he was amazed at his own involvement; he had only met her once, and hardly in the most favourable of circumstances.

Irene intercepted his steady and, she felt, significant gaze in Emma's direction and her own was subconsciously challenging, as though she resented any attention that might be turned towards Emma. She was not prepared for the wave of fierce possessive jealousy that awakened within her.

Adam Templar was not unaware of the sudden change in temperature, and there was a trace of defiance in Irene's gaze as she met his. He said boldly, addressing Emma, 'You are between cases?'

For a reason she could not quite explain, Emma refrained from telling him that Irene had implored her to stay at home during the past two weeks and that she, Emma, had feared to leave her alone, with just the twice-weekly helper, Ethel Goodman, as her only company, Ethel Goodman was a splendid ally, but her time was limited and she could not be expected fully to understand Irene's condition.

'An extended Easter break,' Emma said crisply, and immediately changed the subject.

Irene relaxed. It was like winning a battle. But panic built up within her as fear took shape lest Dr Templar should intrude and begin to talk professionally. Her cup rattled down on her saucer and she spilled some of her coffee. She paled visibly. But she looked challengingly at Adam Templar as though daring him to play the doctor.

But he merely glanced at his watch and said, 'I've a surgery to attend to.' His voice was quiet, 'Thanks for the coffee.' He got to his feet and Emma rose with him.

'Goodbye, Miss Sinclair,' he said to Irene.

'It's pleasant to see a doctor when he's not being one!' she exclaimed.

Emma's expression was one of surprise. She'd had the feeling that Irene wanted Dr Templar to leave.

'Then I must make a habit of calling in,' came the smooth and smiling reply.

Emma heard his words with a certain irritation. Her nerves were on edge and she made no comment, merely walked with Adam Templar to the front door.

He looked down at her and held her gaze overpoweringly as he said goodbye and, conscious of emotion stirring, exclaimed, 'I'll keep an eye on your sister and look in again shortly.'

Emma wanted to snap back, 'When we need you, we'll send for you.' But the words died on her lips. Dr Bryant had every right to expect her to treat his partner with courtesy.

'Thank you,' she said crisply.

He gave her a last searching look and hurried to his car. But a note had been struck which was to echo significantly in the future.

During the next few weeks, as April slid into May, Adam Templar visited York Road frequently, insinuating himself professionally into Irene's life without her being conscious of the fact, finding she was able to confide in him without realising that she was enabling him to assess her case with greater exactitude than she would wish, her acceptance of him touching the edge of friendship, which Emma noticed without enthusiasm.

It was one afternoon when Adam Templar and Emma were alone for a few minutes during one of his visits that, to her amazement, he invited her out to dinner.

A strange sensation surged over her as she heard the deep persuasion in his voice, and she hesitated before declining.

He drew her gaze to his and held it as he said almost passionately, using her Christian name for the first time, Then I must repeat the invitation, Emma.' The words were heavy with significance.

Roused, she retorted, rising to his mood, 'You're nothing if not an optimist.'

His look was unnerving.

'I have my own way on most occasions.'

She flashed, 'Then it is time you were thwarted.'

She thought of that scene about a week later when, early one morning, the telephone rang and she heard his voice. Spontaneously she cried, 'Adam——' His name slipped out. She had not used it before.

'Ah! So at last you give me recognition outside my profession.'

She was grateful he could not see her cheeks flush as she hastened, 'But it isn't yet seven o'clock in the morning!'

He gave a teasing laugh.

'Does that fact make my name valid? I know Irene doesn't get up early. The fact is, I want to have a talk with you without her knowing and where we should not be interrupted. Would you come to see me here, at the Surgery ?' His voice deepened on a note of authority. 'Don't tell me that you can't get away. I'll make my time suit yours.'

She caught at her breath fearfully. 'You sound serious.'

'I am. Well? What time? Today if possible.'

She responded to the urgency in his voice.

'I have to shop this afternoon. . .in the town. . .I could get to you about two.' Her heart was racing as a nameless fear struck her.

As though sensing her agitation,
he assured her,
'There is nothing to worry about, I assure you.'

Suspicion stabbed her.

'I don't want to be away long—waste time.' She didn't intend to sound so ungracious.

'And I accept that you won't give an inch,' he told her. 'Two o'clock then.' The line went dead.

When told that Emma was going shopping, Irene cried, 'But Ethel could '

'Ethel can't spare us any more of her time. We mustn't impose on her. She's so good and a real friend.'

But Irene almost might not have heard. 'Will you be long?'

Despite herself, Emma sighed. She seemed always to be hurrying, with never any peace of mind. . . Why did Adam want to see her? And how natural it seemed suddenly to be calling him by his Christian name. She was aware that he had insinuated himself into their lives almost imperceptibly and with an air of authority that clashed with her own. She did not want interference in her life, which was bound up with Irene and left her no space for personal fulfilment.

'Depends on how crowded the shops are. You know how busy Peascod Street is in the tourist season.' The words came out unguardedly.

Irene shuddered.

'But you're always quick,' she said hopefully. 'I hear every sound when you are away.'

Emma made no reply. Why should Adam want to see her at the surgery? Her pulse quickened.

For a moment she divorced herself from Irene, went out to the kitchen to speak to Ethel Goodman, a tall slim woman of fifty-five who thought the world of Emma, and Irene whom she didn't pretend to understand. The tragedy had even cast a shadow over her own life, since the death of the Sinclairs had robbed her of two wonderful employers whom she had served for ten years. Where there had been gaiety and laughter, there was now a heavy silence and she felt helpless against the depressing forces that had settled upon the house.

'I'll prepare you a cold lunch,' Ethel said helpfully. She did not stress the fact that she could not stay on until Emma returned because she had a cousin coming to see her. In truth she thought it would be a good thing if Irene was studied a little less and Emma more.

'That would be wonderful. . .' Emma looked at her gratefully. Ethel was a true friend and their relationship was at that level.

Ethel thought Emma seemed a little preoccupied. There was a faraway expression in her eyes, which was unusual.

Irene hung around Emma as she prepared to go. She looked at her searchingly. 'You've changed into a suit,' she observed, almost suspiciously.

'It's warm today. I was hot in woolly things.' Emma looked smart in her powder-blue outfit with its crisp white blouse. She said goodbye and went alone to the door. Irene never ventured near it.

'Be as quick as you can,' she called out and, when Emma had gone, went up to her bedroom and shut herself in. She felt safe there.

Windsor lay in the shade of history. Castle Hill was dappled with spring sunshine, and at the top of it stood the statue of Queen Victoria, imperious, a landmark completing a picture of a noble heritage which millions of people from all over the world gazed upon, awed by the magnificence of the castle itself and the atmosphere that whispered of the past.

Emma drove to the Alma Road surgery, parked in the tree-lined street and went up the few steps to the imposing house where Dr Bryant lived, as well as practised. She was familiar with it, for her parents had been Edmund Bryant's patients for many years. The receptionist, Alice Barnes, came out of the waiting-room as Emma stepped into the hall.

'Ah! Good afternoon, Miss Sinclair.' Her smile was wide and reflected in her velvety brown eyes. She welcomed patients, instead of addressing them. 'Dr Templar is ready to see you.'

Emma smiled back and, even as she was about to speak, Adam appeared at the door of a room on her right.

Alice nodded and went to attend to one of Dr Bryant's appointment cases.

Emma felt at home. The surgery smell of spirit was almost as intoxicating as perfume. It took her into a familiar world which she loved, and at that moment Adam was an integral part of it. He stood aside for her to precede him into his consulting-room, holding her gaze disconcertingly and, much to her annoyance, bringing faint colour to her cheeks. It was useless denying that he was a very attractive man and he seemed all the more impressive on his own ground. The memory of his invitation to dinner swirled with unruly insistence through her mind as she allowed her gaze still to be held, while a tension built up as his deep voice broke the silence.

'I'm glad you could come.' He closed the door and indicated the patients' chair by his desk at which he finally seated himself, facing her disconcertingly.