Martin Ellingham woke from a restless sleep to the sound of rain lashing on the roof of the surgery. It hadn't let up since the day before and he scowled as he remembered that he'd been soaked to the skin by the time he'd returned from a house call the previous evening. Mr Routledge! That moronic, whinging, hypochondriacal, manipulating, time waster. The man was a pest and, in his opinion, needed psychological evaluation because of his propensity for finding the most trivial of ailments with which to irritate his GP. Last night had been touch and go whether he'd refused to make the house call on the grounds that Mr Routledge had wasted his time on at least five previous occasions. But he couldn't refuse. With his luck, the one time he didn't go, Mr Routledge would actually have something wrong with him.

Martin could hear the muted sound of waves battering against the cliffs beyond the breakwater. In the almost five years he'd been in Portwenn he still hadn't grown used to these unrelenting winter storms. He leaned over and touched his mobile which lay on the bedside pedestal. The screen lit up - 5.22 am. He sighed. No good trying to get back to sleep now. He threw back the covers and snapped on the bedside lamp. What he needed was an espresso.

Even though the heating was on in the house, the kitchen felt cold as he entered. He flipped the light switch and the room was bathed in soft light. An unfamiliar shape caught his eye as he reached for the tin of ground coffee. It was the little Christmas tree Aunty Joan had brought him during the week. She thought it would cheer him up…get him in the Christmas spirit. It was a small sapling from her garden which she'd put in a pot and which now stood on the kitchen counter next to the back door. There was a silver star perched on the top and little red and gold balls dangling everywhere. It even had a decoration shaped like a little dog with a Christmas hat on. His lip curled. Aunty Joan's sense of humour was sometimes hard to understand. He grunted as he measured out the coffee and pressed it into the portafilter.

The tree reminded him that Aunty Joan was visiting friends in St Ives this year so they wouldn't be having their usual Christmas lunch together. The invitation had been extended to him as well but he'd declined. The last thing he needed was to be with a group of Aunty Joan's friends who would probably chatter incessantly and imbibe too much wine. The thought made him shudder. No - he'd rather be on his own. He could spend the day working on his latest clock.

He pressed the button on the coffee machine and it hummed softly. Christmas in Portwenn – a tedious affair indeed. Christmas was always a taxing time for him. When he'd been in London he'd found the frenzy surrounding the holiday baffling and silly. Apart from the widespread moronic behaviour exhibited at Christmastime, fuelled no doubt by copious amounts of alcohol which often resulted in injury or worse, people seemed to also change personality over the festive season. They became emotional and exhibited an alarming inclination to hug and inflict gifts of chocolate and soppy cards on one another. His lip curled. The tradition was no different in Portwenn except it somehow seemed more intrusive. His patients were much closer to him and hell-bent on giving the Doc 'a little something' for the Big Days. But why chocolate or biscuits and even whisky for God's sake? The eats were full of sugar and fat and excess calories and the latter made him fall asleep and besides, they knew he didn't eat any of it and didn't usually drink alcohol. But his patients seemed to be decidedly hard of hearing when he told them things like that. Idiots the lot of them!

He sipped his espresso as he sat at the kitchen table. There were a few envelopes in a pile to one side. Pauline must have put them there before she'd left the evening before. He idly sifted through them – mostly personal bills and junk mail. He was just about to toss the whole lot aside when he saw a cream-coloured envelope with cursive writing on it. He held it up. Dr. Martin Ellingham, Portwenn Surgery. He opened it and took out the single sheet of paper.

Dear Martin

I've been thinking about you a lot and just wanted to wish you a very Happy Christmas. London is so busy at this time of year and I miss the quieter festive season in Portwenn. And I miss you.

Martin's heart started pounding.

Since we parted I've had a lot of time to think – about us and about what we could have done to make things work between us. I realise now that we didn't really know one another - not the way two people who are about to get married should anyway. And I also realise that, if we'd had the time to really be together, to talk and do ordinary things like go for walks or perhaps cook meals together without the pressure of planning a wedding, we might have made a go of it. I for one am sorry I gave up so easily.

By the time you read this, I will probably already be in Portwenn staying at White Rose Cottage for the holidays. I will understand completely if you ignore this letter but if you would like to talk, you know where I'll be.

Louisa

Martin's hand shook as he held the letter. She was here - in Portwenn. If he left the surgery now he would be with her in two minutes – she was that close. He felt panic clutching at his chest. His heart pounded and his breathing felt as if he had run up and down Roscarrock Hill twice. She was here. Oh God. It was something he'd dreamed would happen and now that it had he was paralysed with fear. Fear that he would mess it up again. That the minute he opened his mouth he would destroy everything the letter seemed to offer: the possibility of reconciliation.

He read it again. He too had regretted the decision to abort the wedding. During the many nights that followed he'd lain awake thinking about Louisa and what might have been and he'd realised it had been a hasty and drastic thing to do. Their courtship had been fraught with setbacks, mostly because they didn't communicate properly and because the local busybodies had constantly been negative around them - passing snide comments, constantly implying how lucky he was that Louisa had deigned to accept the proposal of such a grumpy, miserable bugger. He'd heard people joking with Louisa about him. It slowly ate at both of them and he'd begun to doubt his ability to make her happy. What did she see in him?

Usually he wouldn't have given a tinker's damn about what the villagers thought and even less about what they said. They were a bunch of juvenile idiots, the lot of them. But he knew Louisa cared about what they said. She knew them. She'd grown up with them and, he had to admit, some of the things they said about him were true. He didn't have much of a sense of humour - well none really. Except for the incident with the surfer's Volkswagen drifting off into the harbour (because he was an idiot) he couldn't remember when last he'd found anything remotely amusing in the village of the damned. He was antisocial at the best of times and forthright - they called it being rude. And he had no bedside manner, a trait they seemed to value over being a good doctor. But he did love Louisa. He wanted her to be happy and she wasn't going to be happy if she married him. If only they'd talked about things before the wedding day. If they'd done that, could it have worked?

He folded the sheet and slipped it back in the envelope and put it in the pocket of his dressing gown. Would he go and see her? He thought of her just down the road, lying in her bed in White Rose Cottage. The bed where they'd…he shook his head and got up slowly from the table to rinse his cup. He couldn't let thoughts like that fill his mind right now. It was time to shower and get dressed. It was Christmas Eve but he would still hold surgery until lunchtime and then he would be free for the rest of the Christmas holiday weekend. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Pull yourself together Ellingham.

Upstairs he stripped and got into the shower. He stood with his head tilted back and savoured the feeling of the warm water flowing over his body and he thought of Louisa - as he did every day. Of her beautiful eyes and soft lips. The way her face lit up when she smiled and the way she said his name when she wanted to make a point. He remembered how she'd felt in his arms and he knew that he had to go to her - even if it was just to see her one last time.

Surgery seemed to drag. Every patient he saw was there either because they were lonely and wanted to talk, or they couldn't wait to let him know that Louisa was back in the village. The place was like a bloody bush telegraph. Thank goodness he already knew or he would have made an idiot of himself in front of them.

He ushered the last of the patients out then sat at his desk to write up his notes. When he'd finished he picked up the pile of folders and went to file them in the reception area but as he got to the door of his consulting room Mrs Tishell suddenly appeared. His hand shot up to his chest in startled shock and he sucked in his breath.

"Good afternoon Doctor. I didn't mean to startle you...I'm so glad I caught you in." Mrs Tishell had a way of speaking that embodied the word 'simper'.

He stared suspiciously down at her and at the wrapped gift in her hands.

"Yes Mrs Tishell, what can I do for you?" he asked curtly. He couldn't get past her because she blocked the doorway so he backed into the consulting room, putting a bit of distance between them.

"It being the festive season and all, I thought I would bring you a little something to wish you a very happy Christmas," she took a step forward, "and to express my appreciation for your dedicated service to our community. We medical professionals know how much sacrifice it takes, don't we…Doc-tor?" She came closer, batting her eyelashes at him. Martin frantically looked for a way to avoid what he knew was coming. He moved to stand next to his desk as she slowly stepped forward.

"It's just a little something Doc-tor. Something you can cuddle up to on a cold winter night." Her tone was suggestive and Martin cringed. The woman was mad.

"Thank you Mrs Tishell…now I must crack on so if you would just leave it over there," he pointed at the countertop next to the door. But she was already walking towards him. Oh God.

She came to a stop right in front of him. "There's no mistletoe Doctor, but it doesn't mean we can't wish each other properly does it now?" She leaned in and her mouth puckered into a kiss as she lifted up her face and closed her eyes. Martin sidestepped nimbly and rushed for the door. "Yes….good day Mrs Tishell." He flew up the stairs and shut the door to his bedroom, leaning against it to listen for the front door and breathed a sigh of relief when he eventually heard it closing.

Martin waited a moment then opened the door and listened. All was quiet and he slowly made his way down the stairs, cautiously looking around to make sure Mrs Tishell wasn't waiting to ambush him. It was 1.15 pm – a little past his time for lunch. The thought of food however didn't appeal to him at all - his stomach was in knots.

By 2 pm the rain had eased and after finishing off a report he tidied his desk and went upstairs to brush his teeth. When he was satisfied that his appearance was still immaculate he went back down, took a deep breath and stepped outside. He set off down the hill towards White Rose Cottage and sooner than he was prepared for he stood in front of the door. His courage evaporated and he felt like running away just as he'd done the day after the disastrous concert. He took a step backward but just then the door opened and there she was – his beautiful Louisa. Her hair cascaded down to her shoulders and she was dressed in a warm blue jersey and black jeans. She took his breath away.

"Hello Martin." Her cheeks were slightly flushed as she smiled tentatively up at him.

Martin's tongue felt as if it was stuck to his teeth but he managed to say, "Hello."

She stood back. "Come in."

He ducked his head under the low door frame and squeezed past her. Her proximity set his heart racing and he quickly moved away then turned to look at her as she closed the door. What he wanted to do was go over and take her in his arms and just hold her but he was rooted to the spot. They faced each other - their eyes locked. She looked so beautiful and he swallowed hard, unable to get a single word out.

Finally she said, "How are you Martin?"

"I'm umm…I'm fine...thank you…"

"Work?"

"Work is fine…busy. Mmm." Martin's hands were clenched at his side. "And...uh...how are you?"

"Glad to be home."

He searched her face. Home? Was Portwenn still home?

She smiled and walked past him into the little kitchen. "Tea…or coffee?"

"Umm…tea. Please."

She put the kettle on to boil.

He watched her every move. He couldn't get enough of just looking at her. She was actually here - in Portwenn – in front of him. It had been six months since they'd last seen each other. Six long, lonely months. His eyes followed her as she got cups down from the cupboard.

It had started raining again. He could hear it beating against the windows of the patio doors. "London not to your liking?"

"Not really – no. It's alright for the first month or so...exciting, but after that it's very impersonal." She poured tea into both cups and handed him one. "Milk…no sugar...yes?"

"Yes…thank you." She'd remembered.

"You can be lonelier in crowded London than when you're on your own. Funny that." She walked past him and indicated that they should sit in the little sitting room in front of the patio windows. The rain obscured the view over the deck and the harbour beyond. Martin sat down in one of the easy chairs and Louisa settled on the little sofa opposite.

"So you got my letter then?"

"Yes…" He coughed nervously and took a sip of his tea. It was still too hot and almost burned his mouth.

She looked at him over the rim of her cup. "I meant what I said."

Which part of it, he thought and, as if she'd read his mind she said, "All of it."

They stared at each other across the small space. Her eyes were questioning. His were anxious. Louisa recognised the painful shyness in him. In the months she'd been away she'd thought a lot about that – what it was that made him unable to express himself. The day he'd asked her to marry him it had come as such a shock to hear him open up and say that he couldn't bear to be without her. It was as if his feelings had burst out from behind his defences like a dam wall breaking and the vulnerable Martin had shown himself for the first time. Her heart had just melted with love for him.

What followed was beautiful. The first time they made love she'd discovered a side of him that she'd never imagined. He'd given himself to her - every last bit of himself. There'd been no shyness – instead there was an unreserved tenderness and passion. He'd shown her that he had the capacity to love and to express that love physically. It had shone in his eyes and in the way he took his time exploring her body, finding the places that made her moan with pleasure - driving her insane with desire for him. It was also in the way he held her to his body when at last they lay quietly in each other's arms. What he couldn't say in words, he said in so many other ways.

For a while it had been exciting, the anticipation of seeing him, being with him, making love - well, when they weren't interrupted that is - but then it hadn't been enough for her. She had driven him to speak, driven him to express himself, driven him to share his feelings. She'd wanted to go out and be seen with him in public - as a couple. She'd wanted him to talk all the time - and he'd buckled under the pressure. The more frustrated she became at his silence or monosyllabic answers, the more he'd withdrawn.

In the months she'd been away, she'd recognized that she'd played a big part in them splitting up. She'd always known he was different. It was one of the things that attracted her to him in the first place. She knew that he was socially awkward and a man of few words and yet after he'd asked her to marry him, she'd wanted him to become someone else. She looked at him now as he sat opposite her, fiddling nervously with his tea cup. He looked so distinguished in his immaculate dark blue suit and red tie. She looked at his mouth and wanted so much to feel his lips on hers and for him to hold her in his arms again.

He opened his mouth then closed it again. He looked anxious. What was he frightened of? She remembered right in the beginning him saying to her, "…when I say something, it just makes things worse…" and she'd castigated him for copping out – for being selfish. But while she was away and had time to think about it, she realised that Martin really was afraid of speaking when it came to his emotions. This time, if he gave her the chance, she wouldn't push him.

"I meant everything I said…that I miss you." She brushed a strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

She watched as Martin battled to find words. When he did speak his voice was soft and velvety. "I've missed you too." His eyes still held hers. "Every day."

Louisa put her cup down and went to him. She knelt down in front of him and took his cup and put it on the table and taking his hands in hers she said, "Martin…I don't expect you to suddenly go back to the way it was between us…but I want you to know that I was wrong about you. I was wrong to want to change you. I know that you loved me – you made me feel loved every day. But my need to hear you say it all the time consumed me – made me try and push you into becoming someone you're not…and I'm sorry for that." She put her hand up and gently stroked his cheek.

Martin swallowed hard. What he wanted to say was that he'd never stopped loving her - that he missed her and wanted her to stay. That he was lost without her. But as much as he felt all of these things to the depths of his miserable heart, he couldn't open his mouth and say them. Why not? If it would make her stay and love him – why could he not say it?

"Louisa…I…umm…thank you for the letter." You idiot. Thank you for the letter? Really?

She waited for him to continue and saw the battle waging behind his eyes and in the way his hands gripped hers. "Don't say anything now," she said softly. She squeezed his hands then leaned forward and gently put her lips to his. At first he did nothing, thinking it was going to be a friendly peck but her mouth continued to move softly over his and his heart started pounding. His mouth tentatively sought hers, gently tasting her sweetness and his heart almost stopped as her lips parted under his. Their kiss deepened and every pore in his body seemed to hum with barely controlled passion. His breath caught as she slid her arms around his neck and nudged his legs apart so that she could kneel between them. His hand came up to cup her jaw and she moaned softly against his mouth. But eventually they reluctantly pulled apart - both slightly breathless - both rendered speechless by the depth of their feelings.

A silence enveloped them. A silence filled with fragile tenderness and so many unanswered questions. Eventually Louisa said, "I've missed you so much." She lay her head against his shoulder and he put his arms around her and pulled her close, burying his face in her neck, savouring the scent of her skin and the feeling of her as she lay against his chest.

After a while they pulled apart. Louisa leaned back so she could look at him. "Maybe it's best if we just umm…"

"Yes…" he coughed softly.

She got up and sat on the sofa again. Martin stared at her as if she was about to evaporate into thin air. She smiled at him over the rim of her cup. "Are you going to Aunty Joan tomorrow for Christmas lunch?"

"No…she's gone to friends in St Ives."

"Oh…so you'll be on your own?"

"Yes…"

"Would you like to have lunch with me? We could cook something together. You like cooking." Before he could reply she said, "I've bought a Cornish hen and some lean gammon. A turkey is too much and I never get it quite right."

His heart skipped a beat. If he said yes he could be with her for a few hours. "Lunch would be fine…it will be good...thank you."

He finished his tea and put his cup down on the little table. His eyes were on Louisa as she looked out of the patio doors. She seemed lost in thought, and then she turned to him. "Do you remember when we stood out there on the deck and I told you that the vicar had had a cancellation and we could marry in three weeks' time?"

"Yes…"

"Were you as scared as I was?"

His eyes widened. He remembered that day well. The weather had been beautiful and she'd looked so beautiful. He hadn't been able to keep his eyes off of her lips. "Yes…but I…"

Louisa waited for him to speak. "But?"

"But I also wanted you….I mean…wanted to be with you." He blushed.

Louisa smiled. "And you showed me didn't you?"

He remembered that sweet kiss and how she'd responded and he'd wanted so much to take her upstairs and make love to her. And then his blasted phone had rung. He'd been so very tempted to just ignore it.

He lowered his gaze lest she should see the need in his eyes and, as if on cue, his mobile rang. Both of them drooped visibly in frustration.

He looked at her and said the same words he'd said that day too, "I'm sorry," as he took his phone from his inside pocket and stood up. His tone was clipped when he answered. "Ellingham." He paused. "Is he breathing?" Another pause. 'Where are you? Right…keep him immobile and warm. I will be there in five minutes."

He stood up. "I'm sorry Louisa…"

"I understand Martin." She came to stand in front of him; so close he could see a pulse throbbing in her neck. Unable to help himself he bent forward and his mouth found hers. She moaned softly and leaned in and his arms went around her. Their kiss deepened becoming hungry and sensual as he moulded her to his body. Her hands were in his hair and stroking his face and he felt so much love for her. But eventually he pulled away. "I have to go…" His voice was husky.

"I know," she said softly. She stood back and he ducked his head under the door frame and stepped out into the rain.

ooooOOOOoooo

A Merry Christmas to all my fellow DM fans and may the year ahead be inspiring and filled with exciting things.