…When you say nothing at all.
CHAPTER ONE: Desire
He absolutely could not resist it any longer, they had sat there civilly at dinner with their guests, but his mind kept wandering to the time he could spend with Louisa after they had left. He had to find a way to make them leave early so he could spend the rest of the evening with her, alone.
Martin had managed to ensure Louisa sat next to him around his antique wooden dining table while their guests (all of which Louisa had invited for him) were sat opposite them and at the ends of the table. Traditionally, the host should sit at the head of the table opposite his hostess at the other end, but Martin had made some pompous excuse for the new arrangement so that he could be closer to Louisa. Social occasions are always painful he thought to himself, as Louisa was deeply engaged in conversation with the two women at her end of the table. He was still trying to remember why he had agreed to let her hold a meal for his birthday, he hardly spoke to the people she had invited and Aunty Joan was visiting friends in Exeter meaning she could not attend. She was the only other person he could imagine spending more than half an hour in the company of. As the two smartly dressed men at his end of the table were discussing the recent coalition, Martin found his mind wandering.
He began to imagine all the things he would love to say to Louisa, all those times when he had messed up their relationship and almost lost her for good. Though, he knew better than anyone that dwelling on past mistakes just makes things worse. His thoughts lingered not a moment longer on the past but the very near future when he would have the woman he loved back to himself. He stole a glance sideways at her, still deep in conversation her face moving quickly from concentration to a bright laugh which filled the room, and sent a shock Goosebumps down his spine. When Louisa was happy it was like the sun was shining, shining through the grey clouds of a bad day, drying up any situations which had gone wrong during surgery and cheering him up after all the people who wasted his time thinking the surgery was just a glorified café or insulted him by calling him a 'tosser' throughout the day. He longed to improve his manner, his speech, his intonation, his language so that he could make her laugh like that, just once.
He looked down at her hand longing it to be in his; it was resting delicately on her lap, playing carelessly with the napkin protecting her new dress. Although Louisa thought he never noticed when she brought new things, he always did. But let her believe that he didn't so that no offence was caused when he said the wrong thing. This new dress was different to any of the others she owned, a deep royal blue, tapered to her elegant figure, draped effortlessly over one shoulder with a silvery clasp to give the illusion it was the only thing holding the top half of the dress up. Unlike many of the skirts Louisa wore to work, like the pale blue one with the white fish on for example, this dress came in just above her knees, making her look taller and even thinner than Martin knew she was. He often admired her like this, to himself, where he knew he could cause no offense.
In the company of others he would mainly admire her from a far, but frequently when she was sleeping he would pull back the covers to look at her resting peacefully, snoring ever so gently. Occasionally when she had been curled up to him, on nights when he seemly had done something right or perhaps he just hadn't done something to upset her, he didn't have to look because he could feel her body. The smoothness of her skin, the tickle of her hair on his chest, the sweet smell of her shower gel that still seemed to linger not only on her skin like it did now. But in the bathroom long after she had left for work, the slight static from the hairs on her arms as they rubbed softly against the duvet as she moved slightly in her sleep. The feel of her cold feet as they rested lightly beside his ankles… thinking about it Martin recalled that her feet were often cold and that she should let him examine her to check the blood flow to her extremities was sufficient. Realising, if he was subtle about it, he could do it while trying to romantically hold her hand while no one was watching.
He started to move his hand slowly, like in the taxi many years before; after Peter Cronk's accident, not meaning to alarm her. He attempted to keep looking as much involved in the conversation closest to him which had moved from a reasonably acceptable subject of Politics to which Politicians wives were more attractive. Currently the men were scoring David Cameron's wife's bottom with an 8 out of 10. Martin grimaced bringing more attention to himself that he meant to, scoffing in disgust at the turn in conversation. The man to his left looked past Martin at the floating hand that was hovering just above Louisa's now. Gradually the whole table was turning to look at him and the general direction his hovering hand was. Louisa turned to face Martin, but looked almost immediately from his reddening face, following everyone else's eye line to where his hand was now hanging embarrassed at his side. Feeling mortified that his rash attempt at romance had been discovered, he left his hand where is now was and tried to engage the gentlemen on a more sensible topic of conversation; the age diversity in people who get type 2 diabetes.
Having accidently dropped his napkin off his lap he moved his chair backwards slightly to retrieve it, he noticed a serving spoon had also found its way to the floor. Martin sighed as he went to retrieve the spoon and his napkin. Louisa, who had been keeping a close eye on Martin, bent her head down towards his and tapped him gently on the shoulder, while uttering his name in the usual familiar way that he loved. The contact between them made Martin jump and bringing his head up abruptly, and unceremoniously collided with Louisa. Automatically and without thinking when he heard the small cry and saw her wincing face, his hands were on her head as he kissed it better rubbing her head softly so as not to ruin her beautifully sculptured hair.
As conversation returned to normal and the fuss of the recent head bumping scenario died down, Martin was getting more embarrassed that he was ruining the social occasion for Louisa. Smiling to herself Louisa, reached across below the table toward Martins hand, it was on his leg gently tapping the chair as he considered whether kissing Louisa in front of their guests was appropriate. When he looked down and found her tiny hand nestled in his, her dainty fingers interlinked with his own and squeezing gently, he squeezed it back thoughtfully.
The broadest smile he had worn in a long time occupied Martin's face as he no longer cared that the conversation had taken an even bigger turn for the worse as they were discussing which Top Gear presenter had the worst hairstyle. Having only briefly seen the title of this inane drivel as he flicked through the Radio Times to the documentary channel on a very lonely evening without Louisa, he had absolutely no idea who Richard Hammond, James May or Jeremy Clarkson were. But from the sounds of things Hammond was the one reason why the ladies watched this preposterous excuse for entertainment; he was the male equivalent of the new mildly prettier woman who replaced Carol Vorderman on Countdown. James May was in for comic value, the one who always did things 'wrong' but from the sounds of thing drove at a sensible speed not joining in with the ridiculously mundane competitions the others took part in. The last idiot, whatever his name was… Clarkman, well he just sounds like a complete arse who doesn't understand the importance of promoting sensible and realistic car models and decent prices that people would be able to drive around in every day. Cars that would mean that the general public didn't think they were the best thing since sliced bread. Cars that meant they wouldn't be acting like an insolent pack of screeching hyenas, rather like the irritating teenage girls who, still despite Louisa moving in, continued to stand outside his house making outlandish comments.
Martin had been so het up insulting the imbeciles from the television in his head, he hadn't noticed that his hand, still being held by Louisa was resting on her lap. As his kitchen table wasn't particularly large, it was not surprising that he hadn't noticed, his arm still was significantly bent and not extended fully as it might have been round a larger table. For once he was glad that he could have hold of Louisa's hand without anyone else having to know, he had noticed that she had moved her chair slightly close to him to enable them to be closer. She tapped his hand which was holding her left with her right hand signalling for him to let go momentarily while she poured herself another glass of wine and him another glass of water. But when Louisa went to take his hand she found that it was no longer where she had left it. Sighing to herself, she resumed the conversation with whose around the table about children and pregnancy when she jumped with surprise to a hand being placed on her knee. After assuring her guests that it was just a twinge of sciatica and assuring Martin that she didn't need a medical examination in the middle of dinner, (whispering to him she was just surprised to see him making the first move) and winking.
The conversation turned back to the summer holiday plans, and once again Martin had switched off. Louisa could see in his face that his thoughts were probably with patients or the medical journal she had had to take from his sleeping hands the night before. So she wondered whether she could bring his thoughts back into the room, back to the table perhaps, even back to her?
Once again, she took his hand in hers. It was almost as if he was expecting her this time, as the flinch was only very gentle. Louisa knew she had power over Martin that no one else had and was sure that she could make this go as she wanted to, without the rest of the dinner party realising. As one of the women excused herself for the lavatory and the two men, much to Martin's disapproval went outside for a cigarette and some fresh air Louisa made her move. She knew she only had a few minutes before there was a full table, engaging herself in conversation with the last remaining woman (to make her next move less obvious) was a good plan, as the woman kept eye contact throughout their next turn of discussion. Taking Martin's hand and replacing it gently on her knee has it had been before she patted it with her hand and took a sip of wine. She felt Martin relax, she knew he enjoyed touching her and the fact that it was secret meant he wasn't embarrassed by it. Louisa left his hand there for a little while longer to see if he would make the next move, but Martin was… Martin and didn't.
She laid her hand on top of his, stroking his fingers gently with her own, she easily slid his hand a little further up her thigh and felt his hand tense a little. Continuing her conversation, something Martin always thought she did effortlessly, Louisa moved Martin's hand a little further up her dress until his hand was so high up on her thigh if he had moved his hand anymore he would have touched her hip. Now was her chance, she kept his hand there for a moment while the woman who had been to the lavatory resumed her place at the table. She could feel Martin's arm was tense, but she had come this far and wasn't prepared to stop now. Moving slowly now, to increase the intense pleasure she was already feeling she moved his hand down onto her inner thigh towards its desired destination. In that moment everything was going so right, keeping up conversations above the table and creating explosions of pleasure beneath it.
Suddenly, the backdoor swung open behind Martin and Louisa, one of the men returned to his seat immediately taking a single mint imperial out of his pocket to try and stifle the smell of smoke coming from him. While the other rather loudly exclaimed from the door 'Looks like you have got a bit of a handful there Martin'…
