Living With Adam

‘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.