Loren’s lips thinned. ‘And exactly where is she to live?’
Adam frowned. ‘At the house, I guess.’
‘At your house? In Kensington?’
‘I guess so, why?’
‘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