like that. I'm here. . .' Emotion tore at her.
Irene, shaking, looked so pitiful as she drew back, the tears running down her face as she groaned, 'Why did Daddy and Mummy have to die. . .? Why them?' I miss them so.' A strange expression crossed her face and her mood swung to fear, as she said disjointedly and with a touch of aggression, 'Why should Ruth ask you on a Saturday?'
Emma replied patiently, 'Adam is probably available, to say nothing of Mr Knight.' She explained, realising that she had not mentioned his name to Irene when telling her that she had accepted Ruth's invitation, 'He is Ruth's friend and would-be husband, apparently.'
Irene looked stubborn. 'Don't let's talk about it. I don't want to hear.'
Just then Emma was conscious of desperation and she could not escape the word 'trapped' as being applicable to herself, no matter how unselfish and devoted she might be. Anger followed in the wake of the thought. It was Adam who had held up the mirror which reflected her life. And, she knew with devastating certainty, Adam also who had brought her to life until she ached with desire for him as she stood there, bleak, hopeless.
Emma found that Saturday became an occasion. It wasn't only the fact of going out, but of going to the house in which Adam lived. When it came to it she knew nothing of his life, or everyday preferences, their conversations having centred around Irene and Judy Meyhew. Her body heated as she thought of her previous reactions and the jealousy she had sought to deny. She found herself wondering if there was any other intimate friend in his life, and recalled his emphatic words about not being engaged, or likely to be.
She dressed simply, in a cream skirt and Chinese-type top which fell above her knees and had a blue and gold pattern embossed on the material.
Irene remarked, 'You look lovely. Not dressed up, but smart. You've a lovely figure, Emma.'
'So have you,' Emma returned sincerely.
Irene sighed. 'It doesn't matter. I dress because I have to. There's nothing to dress for.'
Emma felt the breath of guilt because she was going out, but stifled it. Again it seemed that Adam was listening.
Marion came in brightly and said that there was a good programme on television and would like to see if Irene agreed—the suggestion as much to comfort Emma that Irene's evening need not be dull as to stimulate Irene herself.
'The Joanna Lumley one,' Irene said, much to Emma's delight. 'I noticed that.' She put on a bright face as Emma picked up her handbag and car keys, then a look of anxiety shadowed her face.
'You won't be late.'
Marion put in, 'Don't forget I'm staying the night. Time isn't important.'
'I like to hear the car,' Irene said. 'I always listen.'
Emma took a deep breath and stifled a sigh. She said deliberately, 'I shan't be late.'
Irene kissed her as though she were leaving for New Zealand.
Marion walked with Emma to the door.
'Enjoy yourself,' she said brightly.
Emma put a hand out and grasped Marion's wrist.
'Bless you,' she said warmly and thankfully. Marion was a lifeline.
Adam and Ruth's house in King's Road, overlooking the Long Walk leading to the castle, had a gracious welcoming air as Adam opened the door to Emma and drew her into the entrance hall—in itself a small sitting-room—furnished with a few collected antiques by way of a mahogany chest and oval table, adorned by a bowl of heavy silver filled with roses. Parquet flooring was partly covered by two Persian rugs. The staircase wound its way up to a visible landing from which one could peer down on the pleasant scene. The thought flashed through Emma's mind that if Adam and Ruth owned the house jointly, what would he do should she marry? She dismissed the idea immediately and said, 'This is charming.'
He might have read her thoughts.
'We own the house jointly, but in the event of one of us marrying, the other would automatically move out and sell their share.' He was holding Emma's gaze as he
Irene, shaking, looked so pitiful as she drew back, the tears running down her face as she groaned, 'Why did Daddy and Mummy have to die. . .? Why them?' I miss them so.' A strange expression crossed her face and her mood swung to fear, as she said disjointedly and with a touch of aggression, 'Why should Ruth ask you on a Saturday?'
Emma replied patiently, 'Adam is probably available, to say nothing of Mr Knight.' She explained, realising that she had not mentioned his name to Irene when telling her that she had accepted Ruth's invitation, 'He is Ruth's friend and would-be husband, apparently.'
Irene looked stubborn. 'Don't let's talk about it. I don't want to hear.'
Just then Emma was conscious of desperation and she could not escape the word 'trapped' as being applicable to herself, no matter how unselfish and devoted she might be. Anger followed in the wake of the thought. It was Adam who had held up the mirror which reflected her life. And, she knew with devastating certainty, Adam also who had brought her to life until she ached with desire for him as she stood there, bleak, hopeless.
Emma found that Saturday became an occasion. It wasn't only the fact of going out, but of going to the house in which Adam lived. When it came to it she knew nothing of his life, or everyday preferences, their conversations having centred around Irene and Judy Meyhew. Her body heated as she thought of her previous reactions and the jealousy she had sought to deny. She found herself wondering if there was any other intimate friend in his life, and recalled his emphatic words about not being engaged, or likely to be.
She dressed simply, in a cream skirt and Chinese-type top which fell above her knees and had a blue and gold pattern embossed on the material.
Irene remarked, 'You look lovely. Not dressed up, but smart. You've a lovely figure, Emma.'
'So have you,' Emma returned sincerely.
Irene sighed. 'It doesn't matter. I dress because I have to. There's nothing to dress for.'
Emma felt the breath of guilt because she was going out, but stifled it. Again it seemed that Adam was listening.
Marion came in brightly and said that there was a good programme on television and would like to see if Irene agreed—the suggestion as much to comfort Emma that Irene's evening need not be dull as to stimulate Irene herself.
'The Joanna Lumley one,' Irene said, much to Emma's delight. 'I noticed that.' She put on a bright face as Emma picked up her handbag and car keys, then a look of anxiety shadowed her face.
'You won't be late.'
Marion put in, 'Don't forget I'm staying the night. Time isn't important.'
'I like to hear the car,' Irene said. 'I always listen.'
Emma took a deep breath and stifled a sigh. She said deliberately, 'I shan't be late.'
Irene kissed her as though she were leaving for New Zealand.
Marion walked with Emma to the door.
'Enjoy yourself,' she said brightly.
Emma put a hand out and grasped Marion's wrist.
'Bless you,' she said warmly and thankfully. Marion was a lifeline.
Adam and Ruth's house in King's Road, overlooking the Long Walk leading to the castle, had a gracious welcoming air as Adam opened the door to Emma and drew her into the entrance hall—in itself a small sitting-room—furnished with a few collected antiques by way of a mahogany chest and oval table, adorned by a bowl of heavy silver filled with roses. Parquet flooring was partly covered by two Persian rugs. The staircase wound its way up to a visible landing from which one could peer down on the pleasant scene. The thought flashed through Emma's mind that if Adam and Ruth owned the house jointly, what would he do should she marry? She dismissed the idea immediately and said, 'This is charming.'
He might have read her thoughts.
'We own the house jointly, but in the event of one of us marrying, the other would automatically move out and sell their share.' He was holding Emma's gaze as he
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