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Grace Hayes suggested, 'If there's any trouble, Mrs Baines could '

Emma didn't hesitate. 'I'm here in a position of trust, and that does not
include
leaving
you in the care
of your housekeeper.' Her voice was firm, yet her manner was gentle. She had her hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone and could hear Irene calling her name in a slightly hysterical voice.

'Thursday will soon be here,' she insisted soothingly.

'It's years away. . . There's no safety without you.' It was a broken statement in the form of a plea.

'I will ring you this evening,' Emma promised. 'I must go now.'

At the other end of the line Irene, pale-faced, looked at Marion who came into the sitting-room just as Irene replaced the receiver. Marion looked immediately suspicious. Irene never used the telephone and no incoming call had been made or, Marion argued, she would have heard it.

'Have you been worrying Emma?'

The choice of words increased Irene's misery.

'I never used to
worry
Emma!' She added, 'Not in the way you mean. Emma only worried about me because of, well, you know ' She broke off awkwardly and burst out, 'It's only since Adam has been in the picture that this has crept in.' Her voice was sharp, her eyes flashed. 'He's influenced her.' Her mood swayed about like a balloon in the wind and she said irrelevantly, 'You're very good to me, Marion. Why?'

Marion didn't want to dissect her feelings, or enter into a discussion with Irene. She found it more harmonious to concentrate on everyday topics and avoid emotional problems of any kind, accepting the situation, and Irene's phobia, philosophically.

'That is what friendship is all about,' she said softly.

Irene tensed. 'Your friendship for Emma?'

'My friendship for you both.'

Irene accepted that and then said in a woebegone voice, 'I've no peace any more. . . If Emma is going to work, you can't be expected to stay with me and I couldn't bear anyone else. The thought of strangers horrifies me.' A wild look came into her eyes. 'You don't know what it's like. I'm trapped.'

Marion wanted to say, 'And so is Emma,' but she knew that would be fatal. She compromised, however. 'Emma loves nursing, and the occasional case ' She stopped, dismayed by the obvious fear that widened Irene's eyes.

'That's just it—the not knowing.
Occasional
can mean anything. Before the Hayes case I knew where I was.' Her voice sharpened. 'It will probably end up by Emma working for Adam. He'll come back into the picture.' She looked irritated. 'If it hadn't been for his ideas, Emma wouldn't have left me.' The words rushed out. She gave a little whimper. 'But I don't want to think about him. I get all churned up inside and my head feels funny. . . Let's see if there's anything on television.'

Marion picked up the remote control, but before she had pressed the button for BBC1, Irene cried, 'No. . .I'm not in the mood. Let's have tea.'

Marion felt a sense of unease that went beyond her normal concern, as though she were waiting, tensed, for a storm to break. The house was full of unrest.

It was a week later that Grace Hayes developed a heavy cold.

Emma said firmly, 'I'm going to ring Dr Templar.'

'It's nothing.' Grace Hayes coughed as she spoke.

By this time the two women had become close friends, formality discarded.

'I'm in charge of you and Dr Templar would wish to see you, particularly as Dr Wellings is away.' Emma smiled. 'And you've no objection to seeing him again!'

Grace was lying on the sofa in the sitting-room, looking, as she said, 'a mess', but in reality rather frail and heavy-eyed. She gave a little meaning laugh. 'On the contrary.' She added with a sigh, 'But I can't afford to take chances, and with Robert away. . .'

Emma told herself that she was merely following the dictates of her profession and considering the welfare of her patient, but as she picked up the telephone her heartbeats quickened. She got through to the Alma Road surgery and asked if she could speak to Adam, familiar with the receptionist who told her she was lucky, Dr Templar had just finished surgery, so could take her call.

Adam's voice came over the line in a polite, but faintly anxious, tone.

Emma gave him the details.

'If you could look in?' She felt that he must hear the thudding of her heart.

'I can make it at midday,' he said formally.

Emma's emotions flared. Her love for him overwhelmed her.

'Thank you.'

'Keep Mrs Hayes in bed.'

Emma didn't go into the fact that Grace had insisted on getting up, although she was in her housecoat.

The conversation ended with an abrupt, 'Goodbye,' and Emma put the receiver down feeling bleak and empty.

Grace went, good-naturedly protesting, to bed.

'I'm being spoilt,' she insisted. 'I haven't even a temperature. . . Dr Templar will curse us for troubling him.'

Faint colour stole into Emma's cheeks as she asked herself if she would have thought it necessary to call a doctor had that doctor not been Adam. Then she argued that in Grace's frail condition even a cold had significance, and in the absence of Grace's husband caution was doubly necessary.

Adam arrived promptly at twelve. Mrs Baines admitted him and Emma took over, having deliberately hovered near the front door.

She fell back on a platitudinous remark. 'I'm sorry to trouble you, but '

His gaze was inscrutable, his voice crisp, 'That's what I'm here for.'

He was very much the doctor with the nurse—professional, impersonal. They walked in silence to the bedroom where Grace greeted him with the same remark. His reaction was entirely different.

'I much prefer to be sent for, even if it is not necessary, than to miss an occasion when it is.'

'That makes me feel better.' Grace smiled at him beguilingly.

Adam was conscious of Emma standing beside him, and realised it would be easy to convince himself that her manner was conciliatory and that there was just something about her suggesting a personal note. Having ridiculed the possibility, he gave all his concentration to his patient as he examined her chest and, finally, putting his stethoscope in his case, said, 'No complications. No chest involvement. A precautionary couple of days in bed and some paracetamol.'

Emma said quietly, 'I always carry a few useful medicines, just in case the patient hasn't any.'

Adam thought that, personalities apart, Emma was an excellent nurse, her manner expert and sympathetic without being fussy. It was obvious, even in so short a time, that she and Grace Hayes had become friends, and the atmosphere was harmonious, even light-hearted.

'Nurse thinks of everything,' Grace said, smiling at her.

'Evidently!' Adam exclaimed, and for an instant appreciation seeped through.

'We can go to the moon,' Grace said irrelevantly, 'yet cannot cure the common cold.' She blew her nose and made a grimace of disgust. 'Are you very busy, Dr Templar?'

'Always busy,' Adam said lightly, but without hint of complaint. 'Patients seem to bring back problems from their holidays.'

'The sun not always being a friend.' Grace didn't smile, 'I had sunburn once—my own fault—I wouldn't recommend it.'

Adam smiled. 'Too much sun and too much food. . .' He paused. 'But I must be going. . .'

Grace said deliberately, 'Nurse will see you out.' She thought the two of them made an attractive pair and her matchmaking proclivities heightened.

Emma's heart missed a beat. She had noticed that Adam had not positioned himself near the door so he could escape on his own. She moved quickly and opened it. He said goodbye to Grace, and he and Emma walked through the sitting-room.

He said with a professional air, 'If there are any problems. . . I don't want to pump antibiotics in unnecessarily and there are no danger signs, but she is very frail. . . You've obviously become friends.'

'Yes.' She glanced at him. This was the man who had kissed her passionately and she had warned him never to do so again, receiving an emphatic assurance that he would not offend. Now she would have given all she possessed to be in his arms, and felt her thoughts must be noisy and that he must read what was in her mind.

But Adam's mood changed. Resentment and hostility crept back. She had turned down
his
patient and come here. Emotion overwhelmed him; anger changed his expression to a grim overt criticism.

'You have certainly adapted to nursing again.' He turned a cold gaze upon her. 'To say nothing of changing your intentions about leaving Irene. Perhaps I should take heart that my views did not fall entirely on stony ground. Or do I flatter myself?'

The answer came unbidden. 'It was a sudden decision.'

'Then since it was, I assume, presented to Irene as a
fait accompli,
there have been no repercussions, the platitude that time will tell being the only summing-up.' He added, 'Whatever the outcome, it is good to see you out in the world again.' The words came involuntarily, genuine concern taking the place of resentment. 'I'm sure,' he said a trifle cynically, 'the agency will keep you busy.'

If only, she thought, she had the courage to tell him she would love to work for him.

'I don't plan ahead,' she countered.

'Meaning that you would not take any more cases if Irene were not co-operative?'

Sensing danger, Emma said sharply, 'I don't like discussing Irene with you. I don't know why the subject was raised.' Her voice was edgy.

He snapped back, 'You don't like discussing anything with me, Emma! Heaven knows you've made your feelings abundantly clear. Forgive my intrusion.'

Emma wanted to cry out that he didn't understand, and cursed herself because she seemed to have the knack of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. However opposite their views on Irene might be, she could not fault his concern for his patient.

Adam hadn't intended to let his defences down, and the deathly silence that fell between them was the measure of their individual helplessness against the emotion that overwhelmed them, together with the barrier that killed all possibility even of friendship.

Emma could not think of anything to say and they were within a few paces of the front door. Mrs Baines appeared, smiling, from the dining-room. Adam murmured something banal about the day, said goodbye politely to Emma and Was gone.

'A charming doctor,' said Mrs Baines in her lilting Scottish voice. 'Not,' she hastened, 'that Dr Wellings isn't also; but there's just
something
about Dr Templar.' She looked at Emma, waiting for some remark, but Emma just nodded and, as Mrs Baines said to herself, 'walked away in a trance'.

Emma left Grace at the end of three weeks, with reluctance. Robert Hayes had returned home and her long-standing carer arrived just as Emma had finished packing her case. She was a cheerful, plump woman in her forties who had known Grace for some years and had given up sporadic nursing to look after her. Emma liked her on sight and could not help contrasting the cheerful atmosphere at Fairways with that at York Road, where the gloom of Irene's condition cast its shadow. She left with the assurance that she would always be welcome should she find time to visit.

Driving home, Emma reflected that so far as Irene was concerned it had been an uneasy three weeks, despite the fact that nothing dramatic had happened. Her visits home had been traumatic, with Irene woebegone at her leaving. Emma did not deceive herself: Irene would make further cases difficult and it would be a question of how far she, Emma, could go in opposition. It became a vital issue, and the ghost of Adam and his views on the subject obtruded challengingly. His words, 'Meaning that you would not take any more cases if Irene were not co-operative?', came back to haunt her. Her spirits rose however as she reflected on the welcome awaiting her at home. Irene would be delighted and Marion always cheerful. But as she approached the house, her heart missed a beat. Adam's car was parked outside. Thoughts chased through her mind—fear, absurd hope that Adam might have relented and made a friendly call.

But alarm dispelled such ideas as Marion opened the door saying regretfully, 'Irene was in such a state, I
had
to send for Dr Bryant, but both he and Dr Meyhew were out. Adam had to come.'

Irene's voice, shrill and accusing, came to them from upstairs. Emma rushed to the bedroom where Irene lay on the bed, supported by two pillows, crying out, 'You weren't here and I've been so ill. . .I couldn't stop retching.' She shot Adam a defiant accusing stare. 'I wanted Dr Bryant,' she added ungraciously. 'You make me worse.' Her breathing at that moment was laboured; she held out her hand to Emma, sobbing, 'But you know how to take care of me. . .'

Adam met Emma's critical gaze. It was war.

He continued talking to Irene. 'I want to know what brought this on,' he said in a cool professional tone. 'With Emma coming home, this is the last thing I should have expected.'

Irene gasped, 'You see! It's always the same. . .you know the reason. If I could control it all, I shouldn't be ill and a prisoner.' She started to cry. 'It was all right and I was having a little sleep,' she rushed on, 'when the telephone rang.' She stopped, slightly confused. 'I don't usually answer the phone,' she rushed on again, 'but I thought it was you, to say you weren't coming today—coming
back
—after all.'

Adam listened intently, but his gaze was upon Emma, willing her to see Irene's case from his point of view.

'But it wasn't Emma,' he suggested, taking Irene by surprise so that, unguarded, she snapped back.

'It was that agency, wanting Emma on another case.' The words slipped out aggressively and she followed them with a stifled exclamation of dismay.

'And you don't want Emma to take it,' Adam said with ominous calm.

Irene caught her breath on a sob.

'I don't want to talk about it. . . Can't you
see?'
She looked wild and accusing.

Emma cried urgently to Adam, 'A sedative!'

'No,' he said emphatically. He spoke gently but firmly to Irene, 'I want you to get off the bed and go downstairs. A cup of tea '