скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Isn’t that a little unorthodox?’
‘In this day and age! You must be joking?’
‘Nevertheless, you are—a—bachelor, you live alone—’
‘I have Mrs Lacey. She lives in.’
‘A housekeeper!’ Loren’s voice was scornful.
Adam regarded her broodingly. ‘All right then, marry me and provide a chaperon!’
Loren looked at him impatiently. ‘What? And live in that urban backwater? No, thank you, Adam.’ She drew deeply on her cigarette.
Adam shrugged and after regarding her for several minutes more, walked swiftly towards the door.
‘No! Wait!’ Loren gathered herself and ran after him, grasping his arm and dragging him round to look at her. ‘I’m sorry, Adam, I’m sorry. That was a terrible way to put it. But honestly, we’ve had this out before, I just couldn’t go on like that!’
‘I know.’ Adam’s features were taut.
‘But it’s so unnecessary anyway,’ she cried. ‘You know Matthew Harding would be overjoyed if you joined his staff!’
Adam’s face became sardonic. ‘I’ve told you before, Loren, I don’t practise that kind of medicine!’
‘How many kinds are there?’ she protested.
He lifted his shoulders rather wearily. ‘I prefer my kind,’ he replied dryly.
‘You prefer visiting that ghastly East End clinic to me, I suppose!’ Loren bit furiously at her lips.
‘You know that’s not true,’ he returned quietly, ‘nevertheless, I will not give up my work—even for you. And nor will I join some plushy West End practitioner who spends his time dispensing psychology to over-fed, over-indulged, and over-anxious hypochondriacs!’
Loren thrust herself away from him. ‘Being ill isn’t the prerogative of the poor, you know,’ she said bitterly.
Adam regarded her sombrely. ‘No, I agree,’ he said calmly. ‘I suppose I meet just as many hypochondriacs in my work as anyone else. However, the percentage of my patients who feign illness has to be less when I consider how many patients I see a day compared to old Harding.’
‘Mr Harding is a friend of mine.’
‘I know that.’
‘He thinks he’s a friend of yours, too.’
‘Did I say he wasn’t?’
‘No, but—oh, you’re impossible.’ Loren heaved a sigh. ‘Why couldn’t you be like everybody else? Why couldn’t you put yourself out for me, just for once? You know I love you, you know I want to marry you—’
‘But only on your terms, is that it?’ Adam opened the door. ‘I must go. I’ve got to go to St Michael’s before evening surgery.’
‘Why?’ Loren was curious in spite of herself.
‘There’s a patient there I’ve got to see.’ Adam was cool now.
‘A woman?’ Loren’s tone was guarded.
‘Yes.’
Loren tensed. ‘Is she more important to you than I am?’
‘Right now—yes.’
‘Sometimes I hate you, Adam Massey!’
‘I’m sorry about that.’ Adam gave her a slight smile before going out of the door.
‘Adam—wait—’ Again she flung herself across the room after him, only to find him in the hall talking to Alice. Alice was saying: ‘Did you find out how Mrs Ainsley was?’ and Adam was nodding and telling her that she had had her operation but that she was still very weak.
‘I’m going to see her now, actually,’ he said. ‘She has no one else.’
Alice smoothed her apron. ‘Do you think she would like me—I mean—’
‘I’m sure she would.’ Adam’s voice was gentle, and Loren compressed her lips, a sick feeling rising in her throat. She wanted him so much in that moment, and she knew he was completely indifferent to her right now. Assuming a casual tone, she said, mostly to Alice: ‘Who’s this you’re talking about?’
Alice turned to her. ‘Old Mrs Ainsley,’ she replied, frowning. ‘You know—I told you—she fell down the stairs a few days ago and injured herself internally.’
‘Oh!’ Loren’s lips formed a surprised circle. Then she looked at Adam. His gaze was coolly sardonic, and she cursed herself for her jealousy. Then she said quickly: ‘I—I will see you tonight, won’t I, Adam?’
Adam lifted his shoulders. ‘I suppose so,’ he replied emotionlessly. Then they heard sounds from above and presently several men appeared at the top of the stairs and began coming down, talking and laughing amongst themselves. Adam gave Loren a wry glance, and then said: ‘I’ve got to go. See you later. I’ll tell Mrs Ainsley you might call, shall I, Alice?’
Alice nodded, and accompanied him to the door while Loren was forced to go and meet the members of the press who were about to take their leave. She looked appealingly after Adam, but he did not look back, and with determination she raised a smile and tried to forget the frustration that was tearing her apart.
Outside, Adam slid into his car, not without some relief. Sometimes he wished he had never become involved with Loren Griffiths, but mostly he acknowledged that he enjoyed their association. It was only at times like this when she taunted him about his practice that he realized how differently they viewed life. Fate had chosen that their paths should cross, but, continuing in its pattern, had separated them again. He still recalled with clarity the day her sleek Bentley had collided with his rather practical Rover, and of how apologetic she had been in her attempts to charm and tantalize him out of his reasonable annoyance. She had been at fault, of course, but he was only human after all, and Loren Griffiths was already a household name to theatregoers. He supposed he had been flattered at her attentions, unaware of his own attraction which lay not in the lean strength of his body, or in the rather harsh lines of his face, but rather in the disturbing depths of his eyes which were so dark a grey as to appear black in some lights. In any event, Loren found him extremely attractive, and his brusque manner was at once a change and a pleasure after constant adulation. She had never known a doctor before, at least not a young one, and his lack of deference was refreshing. In no time she had wanted to further his career, seeing herself as Loren Griffiths, the actress, wife of Adam Massey, the famous Harley Street specialist. But unfortunately she had reckoned without Adam’s strength of will, and all her attempts to change him had failed abysmally. He was a realist, and he wanted to use his knowledge where it was most needed, not in the furtherance of his own ambitions, but in helping people whom he considered deserved a better deal from life.
Now he heaved a sigh and set the car in motion. As well as visiting Mrs Ainsley, he had other wheels to set rolling, for although he had not mentioned it to Loren while she was so angry, his mother had really left him little choice in the matter of Maria. He knew, of course, that there might be some truth in what Loren had said regarding his mother’s reactions to their relationship. His mother disliked such an association and considered that her son deserved someone more suited to the position of doctor’s wife than an actress who in her estimation relied as much on her looks as on her talent. But since her marriage to Patrick Sheridan she had had little opportunity to use her influence with her son. And as Patrick’s home was in southern Ireland, she visited London only rarely. Her greatest disappointment, Adam knew, was that he did not visit Kilcarney more often. As he had told Loren, it was five years since he had visited his stepfather’s house, and although his mother had visited London two or three times since she had been alone and unable to stay for more than a few days. Her new husband was a farmer, and owned a large spread some miles from Limerick, and consequently he was seldom able to leave it. Adam smiled as he recalled how different his mother’s life was now from when she had been married to his father, who had owned a garage in Richmond. He thought she had settled down to life in Ireland very well, but eight years ago when she had told him she was accepting Patrick’s proposal, Adam had been immersed in his medical studies and consequently he had not taken the trouble to get to know his stepfather’s family particularly well. So long as his mother was happy, which she obviously was, he had been content, and only now did he wonder whether this was her way of attempting to re-establish a relationship with him. Even so, her letter had been unexpected, and he was still unsure as to how to answer it. He supposed he could refuse outright, but what excuse could he offer? His mother knew Mrs Lacey and trusted her implicitly, so he could not use his bachelor status as a reason for not accepting a teenage girl into his household. And in any case, it was only for six months, which would soon pass, and perhaps Maria herself might tire of the course long before that time was up.
He tried to remember what he knew of her, but five years ago when he had visited Kilcarney he had been newly qualified while she had been a schoolgirl with a rather chunky ponytail and little else to commend her that he could recall.
He drove to St Michael’s Hospital which was situated in a close just off the Embankment. Its stark grey walls revealed its age though its tiled corridors and wards were brightly lit and cheerful. There was talk of its being pulled down and new premises being built, but somehow it continued to survive, and its staff were loyal as well as efficient. Adam had once had the chance of taking a job as houseman here, but he preferred the involvement of general practice.
Mrs Ainsley was still in a side ward, but her pale cheeks warmed a little as she saw who her visitor was. Living alone as she did her only contact was with the doctor, and Adam knew that she regarded him more as a friend than anything else. Now he sat down on the side of her bed and listened patiently as she described in detail everything that had happened to her since she had been brought to the hospital, and of how friendly everyone had been. Adam thought it was easy to be friendly to someone like Mrs Ainsley, and felt his usual regret that her only child, a daughter, should have emigrated to Australia several years ago and never seemed to imagine that her mother might require something more than occasional letters from her. The old lady seemed starved of human contact, and although there were societies or clubs she might have joined, she was reticent and retiring, spending her days knitting or sewing, and looking after Minstrel, her elderly spaniel.
When Adam left the hospital, he drove straight to his house in Kensington. Although his practice was in Islington he had continued to live in the house his mother had acquired soon after his father died, for he knew she liked to come back there sometimes. It was not a large house, it had only four bedrooms, but it had the advantage of being detached, and stood inside a small walled garden where it was still pleasant to sit on hot summer evenings. Of course, all about there was evidence of the continual building programme, skyscraper apartments and office blocks encroaching to the ends of these quiet cul-de-sacs, but the park was not far away and from Adam’s upper windows he could see across the expanse of green lawns to the flower gardens.
Now he drove between the stone posts guarding the drive and brought his car to a halt to the side of the house where rhododendrons brushed the bonnet, burgeoning with spring colour. Sliding out of the car, he walked round the bonnet to the front porch and entered into the panelled hall. He was feeling pleasantly thoughtful, and was looking forward to taking a bath before evening surgery. But even as he closed the front door his eyes were attracted to a brilliant orange anorak that was draped over the banister at the foot of the stairs. And as his eyes travelled further he saw also two suitcases, standing side by side below the anorak.
A feeling of impatience gripped him as several thoughts ran through his mind, and he strode swiftly down the hall to the kitchen from where the murmur of voices could be heard. He flung open the door, startling his housekeeper, Mrs Lacey, who came to greet him excitedly, gesturing at the girl who was perched on one of the tall stools by the breakfast bar.
‘You’ve got a visitor, Mr Adam,’ she said, clasping her hands together agitatedly. ‘An unexpected visitor!’
Adam’s eyes moved from Mrs Lacey’s animated face to that of the girl who was sliding off the stool as his housekeeper spoke, looking towards them with anticipation, and an expression of irritability crossed his lean face. Despite the fact that her chestnut hair was now trimmed to shoulder length, and her tall young body was slimmer than he remembered, those amber eyes trimmed with dark lashes were the same, as was the generous width of her mouth and the capricious tilt of her nose. And because he recognized her, he felt a rising sense of resentment that his mother should have dared to allow her to come here uninvited.
‘Hello, Maria,’ he said formally, without any warmth in his voice, but the girl didn’t seem at all abashed by his coolness. Instead, her eyes sparkled and she ran across the space between them, winding her arms about his neck and kissing him with enthusiasm on his cheek. Adam was flabbergasted, putting up his hands to catch her wrists and press her away from him, while his startled gaze caught Mrs Lacey’s undisguised amusement. But Maria merely stepped backwards, allowing him momentarily to retain his involuntary hold on her wrists, and smiling mischievously, said: ‘Don’t look so disapproving, Adam! Aren’t you pleased to see me?’ Her voice was soft and husky, with a faint brogue that was attractive.
Adam stared at her for a moment, unable to find words to express his feelings, and then he raked a hand through his hair and said: ‘How the hell did you get here?’
Maria shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘By plane, of course.’ She glanced smilingly towards Mrs Lacey. ‘Your housekeeper has been very kind. I arrived about an hour ago.’
Adam heaved a sigh. ‘It was only this morning I received my mother’s letter asking whether you might be allowed to come here,’ he exclaimed sharply. ‘I don’t know why she bothered to write—in the circumstances.’
Maria’s eyes twinkled. ‘Oh, but I do, Adam. You see, she doesn’t know I’ve come.’
‘What!’ Adam was aghast.
Maria raised her dark eyebrows and spread her hands in an eloquent gesture. ‘But don’t you see, Adam, this is why I came! I felt sure that given time to consider the situation you wouldn’t even contemplate such an arrangement, and I so badly wanted to come.’
Adam felt frustrated. ‘But where does my mother—or your father, for that matter—imagine you are?’
‘I told them I was going to stay the week-end with a friend in Dublin. A taxi took me to the station and I took a train to Dublin. But I flew to London as well.’
‘Don’t you realize that was a completely irresponsible thing to do? A girl of your age travelling all that way—alone!’
Maria sighed. ‘I’m not a child, Adam.’
‘No, I can see that. Nevertheless, you’re still not old enough to look after yourself properly.’
‘Oh, Adam!’ Maria pouted, her eyes flashing. ‘Please, I’ve come to London for some freedom, not to be even more confined than I was in Kilcarney!’
Adam looked helplessly at Mrs Lacey, and she said: ‘Don’t you think you ought to telephone your mother, doctor? She may be worried. If they should happen to have tried to contact Miss Maria…’
Adam gathered his thoughts, nodding decisively. ‘Yes, you’re right, Mrs Lacey. I must do that. But as for you, young woman…’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
Maria tossed her head. ‘Don’t say anything, Adam, except that I can stay, and I shan’t be any more trouble.’
Adam opened his mouth to protest and then closed it again. What was the use? She was here now, and after all, a little earlier he had been on the point of writing to tell his mother she could come. Certainly he had not imagined this situation being thrust upon him, or that Maria should look and act so differently from his expectations. Women were always unpredictable, he thought with male arrogance, and yet he had not expected Maria to appear womanly. He wasn’t at all sure exactly what he had expected, maybe an enlargement of that picture he had of her in his mind’s eye with a ponytail and a gymslip, but definitely not this confident creature, this product of her generation, with silky hair that tip-tilted slightly at the ends, and a taste in modern clothes that the inhabitants of Virginia Grove might find startling. Right now she was wearing a calf-length midi dress in a rather attractive shade of lovat, but its simple lines were not enhanced by the long front opening that revealed slender legs in knee-length soft leather boots. Adam shook his head a trifle resignedly. He could imagine with feeling Loren Griffiths’ reactions to Maria Sheridan…
CHAPTER TWO (#u54dc6b2c-89a6-55df-b74e-1864124c8a7c)
MARIA awoke with a start, and lay for a while wondering why there were no lace curtains at her windows, and why the coverlet on her bed was not the handwoven one she had always been used to. Then realization of her surroundings came to her, and she moved pleasurably under the soft sheets, a smile curving her lips. Of course, she was no longer in Kilcarney, she was here in London, in Adam’s house.
Her gaze drifted round the room, and she noted with pleasure the lemon striped curtains that matched the lemon bedspread, and the light teak veneer of the furniture. There was a soft, fluffy cream carpet on the floor, into which her toes had curled the night before, which seemed so much more luxurious than the woven carpets they had at home. But then her father was not one for appreciating such things. He was a very practical man in most things, preferring serviceability to artistic merit. Only the advent of Geraldine Massey into their lives had softened his attitudes slightly, and Maria had reason to be grateful to her stepmother for providing her with an ally. Over the years, it had been Geraldine who had interceded with her father on her behalf, and brought some measure of tolerance into their lives. And in this business of Maria coming to England, to take a secretarial course, Geraldine had been the prime mover.
Naturally, Maria had wanted to come. For years she had longed to escape from the confined life in Kilcarney where her father was a pillar of the community, and as such, unable to view any of his daughter’s escapades with forbearance. But until now there had been no opportunity. She had been at the convent school, and surrounded by restrictions of one kind or another. But now she had left school and she was free to do as she wished, at least so long as her father was agreeable.
But it had been hard to convince him that no harm could come to her living with Adam, and she knew that if Adam should have shown any signs of misgivings regarding her proposed visit, her father would have overruled both Geraldine and herself and refused outright to allow her to come. That was why she had taken such a chance and deceived even her stepmother who might have felt it was her duty to inform her husband of what was going on.
Maria sighed and slid out of bed. Thankfully, she was here now, and if her father had sounded distrait on the telephone last evening at least he had not demanded that she should return immediately, and Maria knew that, given time, Geraldine would talk him round.
Now she padded to the window and looked out on to the small cul-de-sac below her windows. Unfastening the catch, she pushed up the window and leaned on the sill. The air was chill, and she shivered, but it was as much with anticipation as with the cold. Suddenly life was immensely exciting, and all sorts of possibilities were presenting themselves.
Suddenly she saw that an elderly woman across the Grove who had been on the point of gathering her milk bottles from her front step was regarding her disapprovingly and Maria glanced down at the scarcity of her attire hastily. She was merely dressed in the shortie nylon pyjamas she had worn to sleep in, and quickly she drew back and dropped the window, chuckling at her reflection in the mirror of the dressing table as she did so. It would never do to scandalize the neighbours on her first morning, and besides, no doubt they were all wondering who she was and why she was staying there. After all, Adam was a very eligible bachelor, and gossip was the breath of life to some people.
Shrugging, she went to wash in the huge bathroom that smelled pleasantly of shaving cream and aftershave lotion and then returned to fling open her suitcases which she had left on the floor the night before. She rummaged through them for something to wear. Later she would unpack, but right now she was hungry. It was after eight o’clock, and at home she was used to breakfasting with her father about seven.
As she dressed she hoped she would have a chance to talk to Adam today. Last night he had been aloof and non-committal, asking the usual polite questions about their parents, but seemingly disinterested in herself. Of course, the call to Kilcarney had annoyed him, but that was only to be expected. Then he had disappeared to take evening surgery at his clinic which Mrs Lacey had told her was in the East End of London, Maria couldn’t remember the name, and later when she had expected him back the housekeeper had informed her that he was dining out. Altogether it had been a most unsatisfactory evening, and she determined to change that today.
Now, dressed in close-fitting denim pants in a rather vivid shade of purple and a cream shirt that reached her hips and was belted at the waist, her straight hair swinging to her shoulders, she descended the staircase to the hall below. She wore no make-up, but her skin was naturally smooth anyway.
She hesitated in the hall, looking about her with interest. The carpet here, as on the stairs, was patterned in blues and greens, while all the doors were panelled in a light wood. There was a polished chest on which reposed a vase of tulips and narcissi, and their pale colours looked well against the darker wood.
As she stood there, speculating as to whether Adam breakfasted in the same room as she had dined the night before, Mrs Lacey emerged from the kitchen to regard her with some trepidation.
‘Oh—you’re up, miss,’ she said unnecessarily. ‘I—er—I was about to bring you up a tray. The doctor said you might be tired after your journey.’
Maria smiled charmingly. ‘I’m not tired, Mrs Lacey,’ she averred firmly, shaking her head. ‘I feel marvellous!’ She stretched her arms unselfconsciously above her head. ‘Tell me, Mrs Lacey, where is Adam?’
Mrs Lacey tried to hide her disapproval. She was obviously very much aware of the purple trousers, and Maria, sensing this, hid a smile. ‘Mr Adam is just finishing his breakfast, miss. In…in here.’
She moved forward to thrust open the door of the dining-room where Maria had eaten her solitary meal the evening before, and Maria nodded her thanks and entered the room quietly.
Adam was engrossed in his morning newspaper, and with his back to the door barely noticed anyone’s entrance. Obviously, he might expect Mrs Lacey to return to ascertain he had everything he needed, but no one else. Dressed in a dark suit, his linen immaculately white against the darker skin of his neck, Maria thought he looked very cool, and very dark and very businesslike, and a feeling of excitement rippled through her. With her usual lack of inhibition, she walked across the carpeted floor to him and bending, slid her arms round his neck from behind, kissing him warmly against the side of his neck as she sometimes did her father.
Adam jerked out of her grasp in a jack-knife movement to get to his feet and stare at her angrily. ‘Maria!’ he snapped shortly, thrusting his paper to one side and raking one hand through his thick hair.
She smiled enchantingly. ‘Good morning, Adam,’ she said, taking the vacant seat to one side of the chair he had been occupying. ‘I’m sorry I’m late for breakfast.’
Adam seemed to gather his composure, and breathing heavily, considered her impatiently. ‘You’re not late,’ he replied bleakly. ‘There’s absolutely no need for you to rise this early. But I have to be away to the surgery by eight-thirty.’
Maria shrugged and reaching for the coffee pot poured herself a cup of coffee with the ease of one used to the practice, and Adam felt the rising sense of frustration he had felt at her attitude the previous evening. ‘But I want to get up this early,’ she said, sipping her coffee. ‘Besides, it will be nice for you having company for a change. Your mother said she always breakfasted with you.’
‘That’s a little different,’ returned Adam dryly, lifting his coffee cup and finishing its contents with a gulp.
Maria raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t see why it should be. I am your sister, after all.’
‘My stepsister!’ Adam corrected her harshly.
‘That’s splitting hairs!’ she observed lightly. ‘That’s your mother’s expression, by the way.’ She chuckled. ‘Hm, this coffee is quite good, but—ugh—do you eat a fried breakfast?’
Adam controlled his annoyance. ‘That’s my business.’
Maria shrugged. ‘I suppose it is. Do you think Mrs Lacey will expect me to do the same?’
‘Perhaps you should ask her that.’ Adam was abrupt.
Maria sighed and regarded him resignedly. ‘Aren’t you going to sit down again, Adam?’
Adam made a point of looking at his wrist watch. ‘I don’t have time,’ he replied, without any trace of apology in his voice.
Maria sighed again, more pronouncedly, and said: ‘Oh, well, I’ll just have some coffee, and I’ll be with you.’
Adam had turned away to examine some papers in his briefcase, but he turned at her words to regard her uncomprehendingly. ‘What do you mean?’
