Living With Adam

‘Yes, she’s an old lady of about seventy. Lives alone, she does. Got this old dog, Minstrel. Anyway, last week she tripped at the top of the stairs and fell right down.’

‘Oh, that’s terrible,’ said Maria, pressing a hand to her throat. ‘Is—is she very badly injured?’

‘Well, she’s alive. But there were internal injuries, you know. Bleeding, she was, when they found her.’

Maria shook her head. ‘And who found her?’

‘The doctor himself. He was used to calling on her, just for a visit. He used to say she needed someone. But anyway, she’s in the hospital now, and God knows when she’ll get out, poor soul.’

Maria bit her lip. ‘Has she no family?’

Mrs Lacey considered. ‘I don’t think so. Not in this country anyway. She did have a daughter, but she emigrated some time ago.’

Maria sighed, cupping her chin on one hand. ‘I think I should like to work with people,’ she said. ‘It must be very rewarding, helping someone like that.’

Mrs Lacey raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘But I thought you’d come here to England to take a secretarial course at the commercial college?’

Maria smiled. ‘I have. At least, that’s what Geraldine thought I would enjoy doing. But after listening to you, I’m not so sure. There must be hundreds of old people, like this Mrs Ainsley. Perhaps there are opportunities in that kind of social work—’

Mrs Lacey looked anxious. ‘Now don’t you go getting all romantic about caring for people and sorting out their troubles,’ she said. ‘It’s not all that easy. You have to have the patience of Job.’

Maria raised her eyebrows. ‘I suppose you’re right. Back home families are larger and usually someone is only too willing to care for the old folk. My grandmother is still alive, and lives in a cottage not far from my father. He wouldn’t dream of cutting her off by moving away.’

Mrs Lacey sighed. ‘No, well, things are different here. People don’t have time to do everything they should do. They’re too busy trying to better their neighbours. They don’t realize that they’ll be old, too, one day.’

Maria traced the pattern of the formica on the breakfast bar with an idle forefinger. ‘Still, I suppose so far as I’m concerned you’re right. But I can’t help feeling sorry for people.’

Mrs Lacey’s expression softened. ‘Don’t be too vulnerable,’ she advised quietly. ‘There’s always someone ready and willing to take advantage of you.’

Maria smiled, ‘That sounds very cynical.’

‘Perhaps I am, at that.’ Mrs Lacey shrugged. ‘Working here as Mr Adam’s housekeeper, I see quite a lot of hardship, but not everybody deserves the help they’re given. You go and take your office course, like you planned. That way you’ll keep out of mischief.’

Maria looked indignant. ‘I can take care of myself.’

Mrs Lacey looked sceptical. ‘Can you? I’m not so sure. Not here, anyway. London’s not all Changing the Guard and Buckingham Palace, you know.’

‘And I’m not still wet behind the ears,’ replied Maria shortly.

‘Nobody said you were. But just by having you here, Mr Adam’s letting himself in for a lot of extra responsibility, and he works hard enough as it is.’

Maria sighed and slid off her stool. She had had enough of this conversation. She remembered her suitcases, still not unpacked, upstairs. She could go and deal with them before lunch, and possibly find something different to wear. Something Adam might not find so objectionable.

But even as she was about to mention her plans to Mrs Lacey the front door bell rang, and Mrs Lacey sighed in annoyance. ‘Oh, will you go and answer that?’ she asked of Maria. ‘My hands are wet. If it’s someone for the doctor you’ll have to ask them to come back later.’

‘All right.’ Maria nodded and walked out into the hall. Smoothing her hair, she opened the door and stared in some surprise at the woman who was tapping her foot impatiently as she waited outside. Somehow she had not expected to find anyone so decorative on Adam’s door-step, and this woman was most certainly that. Small, and delicately proportioned, with silky golden hair bound into a coronet on top of her head, she was quite beautiful, but her expression as she stared appraisingly at Maria was not pleasant.

‘Yes?’ Maria looked at her expectantly. ‘Can I help you?’

The woman glanced back down Adam’s drive, and now Maria noticed a chauffeur-driven limousine at the gates. The woman looked again at her and said: ‘You must be Maria. Adam’s told me about you.’

Maria managed a faint smile. ‘Oh, yes. Er—won’t you come in?’ She felt obliged to invite the woman in, for she was obviously no ordinary patient of Adam’s.

The woman’s lips parted in a semblance of a smile and she stepped into the hall. Her entry brought Mrs Lacey to the kitchen door and when she saw who the visitor was she wiped her hands on her apron and came through.

‘Oh, it’s you, Miss Griffiths,’ she said politely. ‘I’m afraid you’re too early for Mr Adam.’

Loren drew off her pearl grey gloves. ‘But I didn’t come primarily to see Adam,’ she replied smoothly. ‘I wanted to—meet—Maria.’

‘I see.’ Mrs Lacey glanced doubtfully at the girl. ‘And does Mr Adam know you’re here, miss?’

Loren raised her dark eyebrows. ‘I hardly think so. Does it matter?’ Her voice was cool. ‘I’m sure he won’t object, Mrs Lacey.’ She regarded the older woman challengingly and Mrs Lacey’s gaze fell before Loren’s persistent stare.

‘No, miss,’ Mrs Lacey agreed at last. ‘Er—would you like some coffee?’

Loren shrugged. ‘If it’s not too much trouble, Mrs Lacey.’

Mrs Lacey sniffed and without another word marched back into the kitchen. ‘Ignorant old woman!’ remarked Loren maliciously, and Maria felt her own cheeks burning as she over-heard the comment. Then Loren turned to her and said: ‘As Mrs Lacey has omitted to introduce us, I suppose I had better do it myself. I’m Loren Griffiths!’

She said the name as though she expected it to have some effect on Maria, but Maria merely managed a faint smile and Loren went on: ‘Has Adam mentioned me?’

Maria twisted her hands together. ‘I’m afraid not. But then it’s several years since I last saw him, and I only arrived yesterday afternoon.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Loren smiled rather sardonically. ‘Well, shall we go into the lounge?’

Maria moved forward quickly, apologetically. ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ she said hastily, not altogether sure how to treat this woman who seemed to know her step-brother so intimately, and was quite at home in his house.

Loren preceded her into the low, light lounge that faced the gardens at the back of the house. It was a pleasant room furnished simply and comfortably with black buttoned leather couches and a cream and gold patterned carpet on the floor. Here Adam had a television and a radiogram, and there were bookshelves filled with every kind of literature, as Maria had discovered the night before. French doors opened on to a small patio, where there were tubs of climbing plants and a trellis overgrown with rambling roses.

Loren seated herself comfortably on the couch, opening her coat to reveal a short-skirted woollen dress in an attractive shade of turquoise, and indicated that Maria should take the chair opposite. But in this Maria thwarted her, pretending not to see her gesture. She was somehow loath to sit down to what might well turn out to be a kind of refined catechism. Obviously this woman had come here out of curiosity to see what Adam’s stepsister was really like, and although Maria could understand her curiosity, she couldn’t help feeling this visit was precipitate. However, she did come to stand by the screened fireplace, smiling cautiously at her guest and wondering exactly what her relationship was to Adam.

Loren herself seemed completely at ease, lighting a cigarette which she had extracted from the heavy box on the low table in front of her and drawing on it to her satisfaction. Maria waited patiently for her to speak, and presently Loren said:

‘I suppose Adam was quite surprised to find you here yesterday, wasn’t he?’

Maria smiled and relaxed a little. ‘Oh, yes,’ she agreed, with candour. ‘I don’t think he was particularly pleased about it.’

Loren studied her intently. ‘Perhaps not. Didn’t it occur to you to consider that it would have been more diplomatic to wait until you were actually invited?’

Maria was taken aback. ‘No. I didn’t think it was necessary,’ she replied. ‘Adam is my brother.’

‘He is your stepbrother, which is quite a different thing.’

‘Nevertheless, he is a part of my family.’

‘A part you don’t know very well, I would hazard a guess,’ observed Loren a little dryly.

‘Perhaps so. I intend to remedy that,’ replied Maria, aroused by the other woman’s scornful manner.