Chapter 2

It was raining then too, on a Sunday morning. We'd had an October storm the night before and the wind screaming around the house made it shake.

I tried to burrow under the blankets and get back to sleep but I realized the other side of the bed was empty. "Martin?" I called to him and I heard the toilet flush.

He appeared in a moment wearing a dressing gown. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

I shook my head. "Nope. What time is it?"

"Half seven."

"Ah." I got up, slipped into my robe and squeezed past him in the door. "Sorry." That's what I said but it felt good to be around him; good to smell him, his hair, his clothes, his… he just smelled like Martin. No aftershave scent, only a mild deodorant, a whiff of shaving soap, plus an aroma of warm skin that said 'this is a man' unlike the way a woman smelled.

The floor of the loo was freezing on my bare feet so I finished quickly, flushed, washed my hands and scuttled back to bed fast as I could go.

Martin flinched when my feet hit his. "Sorry, the tile was cold," I said in apology.

"Slippers might have been useful."

"I left them downstairs."

"Mm," he murmured, then scrunched closer his hand sliding up my hip, so I rested my hand on his neck, feeling the little bristles on his neck and cheek.

Martin had fairly soft whiskers which were not too scratchy, although he usually ran his electric razor over his face before we went to bed. But last night he had a late call after we cooked dinner and he had to rush out, so here he was in my bed, whiskers and all. I watched last night as he bolted half his food then rushed off to the car park, where the Lexus was staged in case he had an emergency.

Sometime around one AM he got back when I was konked out cold on the sofa in the lounge, a half empty glass of wine on the table along with a pile of marked school papers.

He was apologetic about our interrupted evening as I sat up and rubbed my eyes hearing the tale.

"Sorry. Fool of a hiker got lost! Found by Stewart James wandering in Snell's Wood."

"Good old Stewart." I'd changed into my pyjamas and had my dressing gown draped over me plus an Afghan rug. I hugged my legs as the downstairs was cold.

Martin opened his wet raincoat and I saw how damp he was underneath. "Man had a raging fever and a bent ankle. Plus a concussion! Had to get him to hospital myself as the ambulance got lost in the fog." His hands shook as he worked at the buttons.

"Oh you must be freezing!" I got off the sofa to get him a towel.

"Stewart claimed that Anthony had alerted him that someone was lost so he got into his Bedford and drove out in the storm to find him. Bloody miracle." He stood there dripping on the slate while shaking his head over our local Ranger. "God knows how he found the man."

"Maybe Anthony is psychic," I giggled and then saw the puddle of water growing under his stocking feet. "God Martin! You'll catch your death." I handed him a towel from the kitchen rack. "And Stewart means well."

"At least this time he didn't fire a shotgun at me." He started to dry his saturated hair. "You're wrong. Germs cause colds and influenza. We don't get sick 'from being cold.'"

"Right." Of course I knew that.

He sighed. "I am wet through; perhaps I ought to go home and you can go back to sleep."

I shook my head. "No. Stay. You go upstairs and bathe. I'll hang your wet things up to dry."

He glanced over at his muddy shoes parked by the door. "Those are likely ruined."

I looked them over. "Plenty of mud. But you polish them so well I doubt they'll be permanently damaged."

He sighed. "My father insisted on well shined shoes. His Navy days."

I saw him wince as he said that, for his dad was rubbish to him. I nodded. "You go clean up and I'll sort these. You want tea?"

He shook his head, hair now dry. "I'm fine."

In short order the water was gushing into the tub upstairs, I scraped most of the mud away from his shoes and stuffed newsprint inside them so they would dry. I reclined on the bed, reading a magazine, trying to stay awake, but next thing I knew it was morning and Martin was shivering as I held my cold feet against his legs. "Sorry about the feet."

"Human female core temperature is maintained by shifting blood from the extremities. Hence cold hands and feet; in your case."

I was acquainted enough with his comments to take that as fact and not as criticism. "Well then you'll have to help me."

"Help you?" he yawned.

I pulled him close and began to kiss his face. "I think you know how."

He almost rolled away but I held him fast and after a while I wasn't cold anymore and neither was he. And that must have been when… well, things happened.

"Here go miss," the barman set a tray of tea and things on my table. "Not much call for tea, but it is middle of the day." He peered out at the downpour. "Like I said. Hot tea makes a cold day better."

Martin looked cautiously at me over breakfast that Sunday morning. I usually had a lie-in on the weekend, but I'd heard his stomach grumbling away so I last relented and followed him from bed and downstairs.

"What?" I asked.

"Uhm… you seem quiet."

"Okay for you to be quiet but not me? That it?" I stopped myself for I'd gotten cross. "Sorry Martin. Didn't mean to snap."

He stirred his tea. "You have every right, if you want to."

He had insisted on dressing in the fresh suit he'd brought while I was lounging in pyjamas and dressing gown. He was so, well his clothes were faultless, suit not a wrinkle in it, brilliant white shirt, tie knotted just so, with a perfectly symmetrical knot. "You never dress down do you?" I asked.

He looked at me oddly. "Dress down?"

"Never loose trousers or blue jeans; no working clothes."

"These are my working clothes."

I stood to clear the dishes. "Yep."

"Have I done something wrong?"

"No, Martin you haven't." I began to rinse the plates and he came to my side.

"I have."

"No."

"Well from your behavior there must be something bothering you."

I put down the plate I was holding and the dish brush then turned on him. "I don't know."

"Well what then?"

I sighed. "You, uhm, we, we're just so formal sometimes; maybe more you than me. We are engaged after all."

"What would you like me to do or be, Louisa?" he asked and from his tone we had a row coming. "Do a jig in the streets? Run about in my boxers and vest?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Hmm. That might scare the neighbors. 'Doc Martin has gone Bodmin.'"

He recoiled but stayed silent.

I shook my head. "Look… I'm just asking if you can relax a little bit. Take off your suitcoat, and that tie. It's just us Martin – nobody else."

He peered down at his shirt. "But I like this tie."

"It is a beautiful tie." I reached over and stroked it letting my fingers run down it and inside his coat. "Just… you don't have to go."

He shook his head. "I have some bills to pay, and I have to my laundry, and have to clean up those mucky shoes."

My hand flicked open the button on his jacket ad wrapped my arms around him. "Martin, it's raining and cold. No one's about and… well," I purred as I kissed his cheek then started to work on his neck above his collar with my lips. "I know what we can do on a rainy day."

He stood rigid for a moment then began to kiss me back.

"Sunday's going to be like this when we get married?" he asked.

"I hope so…" I pulled his tie away and draped it carefully across a chair back. "Mobile off?"

He pulled it from his coat and pushed a button. "Now it is."

I nodded. "Good. That is good."

He smiled just the faintest little bit. "I see."

I tipped my head back and he kissed me deeply and all I wanted was this man forever and ever, despite his faults.

"This is a lot better than hot tea on a cold day…" I whispered into his ear so I took his hand and led him back to bed.