Living With Adam

Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun— staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is [e-mail] and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Living with Adam

Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

DR ADAM MASSEY brought his car to a halt outside the tall, narrow Georgian façade of the fashionable Chelsea town house that Loren liked to call her pied-à-terre. Looking thoughtfully up at the windows, Adam wondered how she would take the news he had to impart, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would not like it. But then he didn’t particularly care for the idea himself.

He compressed his lips wryly and turning off the engine he put the ignition keys into his pocket. As he slid almost reluctantly out of the car he was conscious that he was simply delaying the inevitable, and with an impatient shrug of his broad shoulders he locked the car door and, turning, ran swiftly up the stone steps of the house. Inserting his key in the lock, he entered the softly carpeted hallway, and encountered Alice, Loren’s invaluable maidservant who had been with her for more years than she cared to remember. Alice smiled, and said:

‘Oh, it’s you, doctor. I thought it was another of those reporters! Cheek of the devil they have.’

Adam frowned and glanced at his watch. ‘Damn,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’d forgotten. It was the press conference this afternoon, wasn’t it? Are Mannering and Edwards still here?’

‘Mr Mannering’s gone, but Mr Edwards is still here,’ Alice informed him. ‘It’s almost finished, anyway. I’m sure Miss Griffiths would be only too pleased to send them away if she knew you were here.’

Adam gave a rather dry smile. ‘You’re very good for my ego, Alice,’ he said, with feeling. ‘However, I really don’t think I ought to interrupt her while she’s working—’

‘Darling!’

The voice came from above, drifting down to them huskily, and both Adam and the housekeeper looked up to see Loren Griffiths poised at the head of the flight of stairs which led down into the hall. Dressed in a clinging gown of some dusky pink material that clung to her small, supple form, her blonde hair swinging silkily to her shoulders, she was quite startlingly beautiful, and Adam thrust his hands patiently into his trousers pockets, quite aware that Loren was about to make an entrance. She came down the stairs with her usual elegance, but there was a certain eagerness in her step which quickened as she neared him and presently she was sliding both her arms possessively about one of his.

‘Darling,’ she said again, ‘you know perfectly well I hate these conferences, but they’re a necessary evil, I’m afraid!’

Adam half smiled. ‘You know you revel in every minute of it,’ he contradicted her gently. ‘What’s happened? Where are your avid critics?’

Loren raised her dark eyebrows. ‘If you meanthe press, and I presume you do when you speak in that sarcastic tone, they’re all having drinks with Terry.’

Terry Edwards was her agent, and Adam suppressed the ready comment he could have made. He and Edwards just didn’t get on, and it was no secret.

‘I see,’ he said, instead. ‘I was just remarking to Alice that I had forgotten you would be busy this afternoon. However, if you’re through…’

‘I am. But, darling, I thought it was your baby clinic this afternoon, or something.’ She wrinkled her nose delicately, and Alice chose this moment to say:

‘Shall I bring you something to the small sitting-room, Miss Griffiths?’

‘Just tea, please, Alice,’ said Adam before Loren could reply, and Alice nodded agreeably and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

Loren sighed rather petulantly and then said: ‘Really, Adam, you might consult me before issuing Alice with your orders!’

Adam smiled. ‘Don’t fuss. Come into the sitting-room. I want to talk to you.’

‘Only talk? You disappoint me,’ returned Loren dryly, but she preceded him obediently across the hall and into the small sitting-room which was the least opulently furnished room in the house. Even so, its tapestry-clad walls and Regency-striped couches set on soft Aubusson carpeting were a little stifling for Adam’s taste, but he usually managed to hide his feelings admirably.

Now Loren waited until he had closed the door before twining her arms round his neck and parting his lips with her own, pressing her lissom body close against him, demanding a response. Adam held her closely for a moment, returning her kiss warmly, and then he gently but firmly put her away from him. When she would have protested and slid back into his arms, his grip on her arms tightened perceptibly, and she pouted impatiently.

‘Adam,’ she said reproachfully, ‘I thought you’d come here to see me.’

Adam sighed. ‘So I did, Loren. But not for the reasons you imagine. I have other things on my mind right now.’

Loren pulled out of his grasp. ‘Oh, have you?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Adam raked a hand through his thick dark hair which persisted in falling across his forehead. ‘I’m sorry, Loren, but I’m not in the mood to play games!’

Loren compressed her lips. ‘You’re a cool devil, Adam,’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘You come here unexpected and unannounced, and then when I try to show you how pleased I am to see you, you treat it all like child’s play!’ She tossed her head. ‘I don’t know why I put up with it!’

Adam’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you?’ His tone was hard.

Loren looked at him impatiently, and then she gave a helpless gesture of submission. ‘Oh, Adam, don’t let’s quarrel! You know I don’t mean half of what I say. It’s just that I get so—so jealous—of your time—of everything.’

Adam’s face softened. ‘All right, Loren, we won’t quarrel. I just don’t know how to put what I have to say.’

Loren went and sat on a couch and patted the seat beside her invitingly, but Adam shook his head and paced rather restlessly about the room until Alice appeared with a tray of tea and some hot buttered scones which she placed on a low table in front of Loren. She smiled rather understandingly at him before leaving, and after she had gone, Loren picked up the teapot rather carelessly and began to pour some tea into the wafer-thin cups.

‘What is it about you that makes women feel so protective towards you?’ she asked tersely. ‘Honestly, Alice treats you like a long-lost son, and although she knows I hate tea she persists in making it because you’re here!’ She made a moue with her lips. ‘You don’t look in need of protection to me!’

Adam smiled and came to take the cup she held out for him. ‘Don’t be bitter!’ he commented mockingly, and she lifted her shoulders with some annoyance before squeezing lemon into her own tea and grimacing as she raised the cup to her lips.

‘Well, anyway,’ she went on, after taking several sips of the liquid, ‘why are you here? I’m sure you said it was your baby clinic this afternoon.’

‘It was.’ Adam bent and put one of the tiny scones into his mouth. ‘But Hadley is taking it for me.’

‘But why? You know we had a date for dinner after the play this evening. Can’t you make that?’ There was a taut resigned expression marring her perfect features now.

Adam shrugged. ‘Emergencies aside, I can’t see why not,’ he replied smoothly. ‘But what I have to tell you seemed better said when you’re fresh, and not when you’re tired after the play, as you invariably are.’

Loren frowned. ‘You make me sound like a creaking Madonna!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m never too tired for you.’

He inclined his head slowly. ‘All right, perhaps I used the wrong expression. In any event, I wanted to talk to you now, while we’re alone, and not in some crowded restaurant.’

‘Well, do go on. I’m avid to hear what it is.’

Adam sighed, and replaced his tea cup on its saucer. ‘Well,’ he began carefully, ‘my mother has written to ask me to look after Maria for six months.’

There was silence for a long moment, and then Loren said, slowly: ‘Who is Maria?’

Adam shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘My stepsister. I’ve mentioned her.’

Loren’s nostrils flared slightly. ‘Your stepsister,’ she repeated tautly.

‘Yes.’

Loren rose to her feet, reaching for a cigarette from the box on the table and accepting the light Adam offered. Inhaling deeply, she looked intently at him. ‘Perhaps I’m slightly dense, Adam, but why have you to look after your stepsister for six months? I thought you told me she was practically grown-up?’

‘She is. At least, she must be. It’s five years since I last saw her. She was twelve or thirteen then, I’m not certain which.’

Loren was obviously controlling her temper with difficulty as she asked: ‘But your stepsister lives with your mother and her father in Ireland. Exactly why are you involved?’

Adam thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘She wants to come to London to take a secretarial course.’

‘A secretarial course?’ echoed Loren faintly. ‘Why can’t she take this course in Dublin or somewhere?’ Her eyes flashed with impatience.

Adam raised his eyebrows. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

‘But it’s ludicrous!’ Loren shook her head disbelievingly. ‘Saddling you with a teenage girl! What is your mother thinking of?’ Her eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘She knows about—me—doesn’t she?’

‘My mother? Of course.’

Loren nodded her head vigorously. ‘I thought so. That’s it, of course.’

Adam sighed. ‘What is “it"?’

‘She’s sending this girl here to spy upon us.’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous!’ Adam raked a hand through his hair. ‘I’m not a child, Loren. I am over thirty, you know.’

‘I know, darling, but until your mother married again, you were her little ewe-lamb, weren’t you?’

‘Loren, don’t talk such tripe! If she’s sending Maria to London, it must be because Maria wants to come.’

‘But why should she want to come?’

‘How the hell should I know?’ Adam strode across to the window. ‘What would you have me say? I’m sorry, but she can’t come. My—my mistress would object?’

Loren uttered a furious gasp. ‘You—you—’

‘Oh, save it!’ exclaimed Adam, turning round. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Nevertheless, it’s true. She is my stepsister, after all, and I don’t see much of her. As I recall she was a nice kid. At least she didn’t throw any tantrums when her father married my mother, and I know my mother found it easier because of her understanding. Girls of ten can be pretty difficult at times.’

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 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.