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'Now you're talking!' Paul said heartily.

Emma watched every shade of expression that crossed Adam's face. The first resistant, faintly irritable flash, followed by an easing of tension, until he said. 'I can't see myself going through the motions
of the
average engagement.
I'll
probably turn up one day—married!' And although he laughed, it was not
lost on his
listeners that
there
was a note of seriousness in
the
remark.

Emma
felt that a weight had suddenly been placed in her stomach and every nerve tingled. The possibility of
Adam
marrying filled her with dread. The thought darted through her mind that at least there didn't appear to be anyone in the picture at the moment.

Ruth looked at him indulgently.

'You're a tantalising enigma, dear brother.' Ruth suddenly stopped. She had forgotten Emma's position and felt that she had been indiscreet. Emma would appear to have nothing lying ahead of her, except responsibility. This conversation was, in fact, outside her world.

Nothing, however, dampened the enthusiasm that surrounded them, and for a moment Emma relaxed. So she loved Adam. . . Why not savour this brief time and let tomorrow take care of itself? It was good to be out and, even though she was not part of the laughter, it was a pleasant sound to which she was rarely treated without some worry hanging over her.

At that moment the telephone rang shrilly, making her jump.

Adam sprang to his feet and picked up the mobile instrument that lay on the sideboard.

'Dr Templar. . . Why, Marion Foster!' he exclaimed, immediately alert. 'Oh, dear, I'm sorry. . . Quite right. Emma and I will come at once.' He had been looking at Emma as he spoke, and as he put down the telephone, he said in answer to her breathless query, 'Irene's not well; she's been vomiting and is afraid.'

Ruth cried, 'Oh, I'm so sorry.'

Emma looked stricken and uneasy. She felt the tension immediately build up as Irene came into the picture, and insisted to Adam, 'I can deal with this. . . It's not often she has these attacks and '

Adam just said quietly and firmly, 'I'm your sister's doctor and I need to see for myself.'

Emma was trembling. It was as though thunder had crashed into a beautiful evening, smashing the tranquillity, the harmony and the happiness.

Fortunately they had almost finished their meal, but a feeling of disruption suggested chaos as Ruth and Paul got to their feet and followed Adam and Emma into the hall. Ruth looked directly into Emma's troubled gaze and put a hand on her arm. 'Irene has a good doctor,' she said reassuringly. I'm sure she will be all right. . .lovely to have had you here.'

Paul seconded that as they hurried to the front door.

Emma had a blurred vision of two happy people as she and Adam left what had seemed like an oasis. She got into her car as Adam got into his. He led. Nothing had been said.

Irene was in bed. She was pale, tense and scared. She looked up at Adam and put out a hand to Emma who had accompanied him, crying, 'I'm so sorry to have '

Adam didn't wait to hear the rest of the apology. 'What have you eaten today?' He spoke quietly and felt her pulse, which was rapid.

'Eat?' She uttered the word as though it were foreign to the cause. She said instantly, 'It has nothing to do with what I've eaten.'

Adam exclaimed, 'You mean you're subject to these attacks?' He added swiftly, 'Not since I've been looking after you.' He glanced at Emma for guidance and there was nothing encouraging in his manner.

Emma was immediately on the defensive. They were back on the old ground, only now she had the turmoil of her love for him.

'They are rare,' she explained, feeling that Adam must be looking into her heart. 'A sudden rapid pulse, shaking and, finally, sickness.'

'Associated with any particular event?' He was persistent.

'When I feel afraid,' Irene murmured.

'Did Dr Bryant treat you for them?' Adam could not recall having read anything of that nature in her case notes.

Irene looked pathetic.

'No. But we didn't send for him. Tonight was different. . . My heart—Marion. . .' her voice trailed away. 'I don't want to talk about it. I'm better now.'

'I can't help you if I'm not aware of all the symptoms,' Adam insisted.

Emma rebelled against his persistence. They seemed to be back on the old dangerous ground where she wanted to fight against what she felt instinctively to be his lack of sympathy.

'I've told you,' Irene murmured.

'Did you feel sick beforehand, or was it a question of spontaneous vomiting because you were tense?'

Irene's eyes opened wide.

'I didn't say I was tense,' she protested.

Adam persisted, 'But you spoke of fear.'

Irene resented being questioned; she wanted his sympathy and soothing words, and sensed that he was not in the mood for either. She said, lowering her head and speaking in a muffled voice, 'I'm being a nuisance and spoilt your evening.'

Emma said quickly, 'Don't think of that.' She looked at Adam, silently appealing to him to say something helpful, annoyed by his attitude and feeling all the old animosity building up within her.

Adam said, 'That doesn't come into it. I want to help you, but I must know all the facts.'

Irene felt impatient.

'You know them; you know what I've got.' Her voice rose to a high pitch. 'Agoraphobia isn't just a matter of not being able to go out. You get panic attacks. I told Emma I've read all about it.' She spoke a trifle defiantly.

Adam felt frustrated to the point of annoyance. There was a tension building up and he was aware of Emma's critical gaze.

He said gently, 'It is far better to know too little than too much. Read a medical book and one can believe one has all the symptoms of the ailments. Bad for you. . . You don't feel sick or afraid now?'

She didn't hesitate. 'No, the feelings have all gone.' She looked at Emma and there was relief in her expression.

Adam was studying her intently and said, to Emma's surprise, 'What type of sickness was it?'

Irene looked baffled and irritated.

'Sickness is sickness,' she stated emphatically.

'On the contrary. Did it come after a period of nausea, or was it a sudden vomiting without any other symptoms?'

Irene hesitated and then said almost defiantly, 'I had no warning, but I happened to be in the bathroom.'

'So you weren't so ill that you couldn't get about.'

'It was a spasm,' she said with finality.

Adam said gravely, 'I understand.'

Irene brightened.

Emma felt a sudden sense of relief. She was always on edge when Adam was talking to Irene of her physical condition and now, loving him, she was more than ever anxious that there should not be any disagreement between them.

'I'm not going to give you any medication,' Adam said finally. 'I'm quite satisfied.' He added lightly, 'Did
you
feel it was necessary to send for me, or did Marion ?'

Irene interrupted him. 'We both. . . Marion was, after all, in charge.'

Adam noticed how subtly Irene stressed the importance of her condition, and how composed she now was, her pulse regular. He nodded, but did not speak.

'I'll have a word with Marion Foster before I leave,' he said with a trace of authority.

Marion was apologetic. She had been reluctant to call him, but when Irene had been sick. . .

Adam reassured her. He, Emma and Marion were in the sitting-room, having left Irene in a perfectly composed state.

Emma was aware of Adam to the exclusion even of the turmoil of the recent drama. He was very much the doctor, distant from her as he questioned Marion and was grateful for her comprehensive answers which, Emma sensed, tied in with his diagnosis, whatever that might be. Her thoughts were chaotic, and when Irene had these spasmodic turns her thoughts rushed back to the overwhelming truth that, had she not given her parents the theatre tickets, none of this would have happened, and Irene would be the normal high-spirited girl of yesterday, involved with Andrew.

Marion was conscious of the tension between Adam and Emma, and left discreetly. It was impossible to gauge Emma's feelings, but Marion felt that Adam had an enormous influence over her and she was intrigued by the situation.

When they were alone together, Adam gave the impression that he had no intention of leaving immediately. He was aware of Emma's disturbing presence,
and the diagnosis he was about to give created an uneasy uncertainty.

Emma exclaimed with a dissatisfied air, 'Why can't you prescribe any medication for Irene?'

'Because drugs could be habit-forming and I only resort to anti-depressants when vital.' He added quietly, but firmly, 'This is a case of hysteria, Emma. If you'd been here it would never have happened.'

'Hysteria!'
Emma uttered the word with distaste and disagreement. 'I can't congratulate you on your diagnostic ability.' The emotion that was churning within her penetrated the challenge.

'Irene has accepted this pattern of living, the original agoraphobia giving her a perfect excuse. She has a fixation where you are concerned and you've become the substitute family. I'm not saying anything new, Emma, but I can't work miracles, or even improve Irene's condition, unless she herself wants to get better.'

Emma dared not raise her voice, aware that Irene was upstairs and might hear, but she said with a low, passionate earnestness, 'That is the most unforgivable, cynical thing you've ever said.'

'And, unfortunately, the truest.' He did not flinch from her anger. 'Irene is playing a part that tragedy originally devised for her, but which now she has accepted as normal. She is like a child that cannot bear to be away from its mother. You are the lost parental figure, and she can't stand your being away from her. She doesn't want freedom herself, and she subconsciously begrudges your having it.'

Emma was angry—angrier than she ever remembered being in her life. She loved and she hated him; he stood as a challenge to everything in which she believed. Now she looked at him for a second, eyes flashing, cheeks flushed. 'Nothing on earth would
make Irene capable of going out of this house,' she said with grim finality.

Adam heard her, bur was mesmerised by her beauty, her powerful sexuality, the passion in her eyes, the tautness of her slim young body; and desire cancelled out discretion as he put his arms around her and penetrated her mouth in a fierce passionate kiss.

Every nerve responded, as Emma felt the thrill of his touch, until she realised that she would betray her love for him unless she freed herself. With a giant effort she managed to escape, standing shaking as she cried, 'That seems to be your only method of winning an argument, or solving a problem. I'm sorry, but I'm not impressed.' She added on a note of scorn as she tried to control her emotions, 'Don't try that method again.'

His eyes darkened with shocked amazement and his voice was cutting as he said, 'Don't worry. I shan't transgress again, I assure you.'

Adam
found that he was unable to account for his behaviour and felt a certain intense self-criticism as he faced Emma's seeming contempt. He did not kiss women, he argued fiercely, or even flirt with them, but there was something about Emma that aroused his sexuality and left him at the mercy of his emotions. She challenged him in every direction and he told himself that while he always seemed to lose the battles, it was essential he win the war. Not only, he reasoned, for his own sake, but Irene's. Dispiritedly, he accepted that he had already appealed for her co-operation and could go no further along those lines. Nevertheless, trying to overcome the strange tension within him, he made a last appeal, almost as though they were standing there in perfectly normal circumstances, the passion of a moment before forgotten.

'If you would try to look at your sister's case professionally,' he suggested in a quiet reasonable voice.

It was not what Emma had expected, following immediately upon his explosive statement.

She stared at him, amazed at his swift change of mood and aware of her own weakness the moment she became subjective. She would not capitulate or be kissed into submission, she thought rebelliously.

'Meaning agree with you.' She spoke scornfully. 'When it comes to it, we don't even speak the same language.'
A
tremor went over her as she spoke, and she relived his kiss and the passion it aroused. If anything, womanlike, she was abashed by his cool calmness after the storm.

'I want to get Irene
out
,' he insisted. 'With your encouragement '

She turned on him.

'And I want to stand on the moon; the one is as likely as the other.'

'That is what
you
say. I'm here to prove you wrong. If it means upsetting Irene from time to time, that's the price to be paid. I like a challenge, and your sister is one.'

His reasonableness irritated her. How swiftly he could change, she thought, and how lightly kiss her. Nevertheless she felt a strange certainty that he would not do so again, even as he had promised. A promise made in the form of a threat.

'I don't want her upset.' It was a warning.

'The cure is not always pleasant, Emma.'

The sound of her name aroused her to a point where only his presence was real and her need of him negated the argument between them. She wanted to be in his arms, but with
love
—not a moment of stolen passion.
Love.
Her body heated at the mere echo of the word. She was the last person on earth with whom he would fall in love, she told herself. His kisses meant nothing.

'We shall never agree,' she said vehemently.

'And while I am her doctor I shall never give up hope,' he insisted. Then, almost formally, he said, 'But I must be going. I'm quite satisfied that Irene will have a good night. And you've only to ring, no matter what the hour, if I should be needed.'