Chapter 8
Louisa
We sat in a tense silence for a few moments and at last I realized that I was going to have to be the one to speak. I asked if he had been to see Peter and he said that yes, he had been in the late morning and that Peter was progressing very well. I told him again how awful that whole experience was for me. But special too, in that he shared part of his story with me.
He blushed slightly and looked at the floor. There he was - the vulnerable man, the one behind the wall. So, a compliment of sorts could bring him near. Silence reigned again but this time I decided to just let it be. I took a few deep breaths and waited. At last Martin looked up and asked me about my day and I happily rambled on about the things that had gone on at the school and how many of the staff were so amazed at what he had accomplished with Peter.
"Well Louisa," he had said, " you know that I was only doing my job. If those forceps had only worked as they should, it would not have been nearly as 'exciting' as people seem to think. I used to perform operations like that on a routine basis so it was really nothing."
I couldn't believe he was being….what was it…..rather self-deprecating, I thought. "It was a lot more than nothing, Martin," I had said. "It was amazing that you deliberately chose to put yourself through all of that….it must have been terrible for you."
"I just did what my training and experience have taught me. The blood issue, as I told you, resulted from repeated exposure to a high pressure environnment. It is quite likely that having a break from that enabled me to follow through with the incision and subsequent activity," he had said.
"Martin, I think you aren't giving yourself enough credit," I had replied. "A lot of people would have likely not have been able to overcome such an 'Issue', as you call it, in such a pressured situation. I still think it was amazing."
Martin had then replied that I had likely never seen surgery before, and though critical, what he had done was basically a simple procedure. I could tell that he was not going to go in deeper about his feelings about the whole situation and so I decided to get up and check on the food. Everything was ready and so we sat down and began to eat. I had hoped Martin might have a compliment about the dinner but he said nothing. Finally I asked him if the meal suited him and he answered that it was delicious and certainly met his optimal nutritional requirements. But then he spoiled things a bit by saying that if I wanted to make the casserole even more healthy, perhaps I could use less butter and fat free chicken broth to cut down on the fats even more.
My cheeks reddened a bit. Why was he always rude? Why, I thought. I knew that I could have made the dish a bit more lean but the grocer had been out of the lower fat chicken broth and, as for the butter, the rice would stick if I hadn't used enough! I was merely following the recipe which, I informed him, had actually come from an old Portwenn village cookbook and had belong to his Auntie Joan.
He had then made some remark about Joan being a less than healthy role model when it came to food and perhaps I needed a newer, low fat cookbook. "Well then, I will go right out and buy one, Martin," I had replied somewhat acidly.
Immediately the room went quiet and I noticed that Martin tensed. He seemed to withdraw into himselft somehow. Too bad, I thought. If he is going to insult me, he needs to know that I will defend myself.
But as the silence between us stretched on, I deflated a bit. I began to think back about the things that were said and done in that ambulance and that taxi. If, as I had begun to think, Martin was a bit fragile, perhaps he meant no insult but was simply stating what he saw as his opintion. Granted, I would like for it to have been said differently but still, there was something about this man that drew me to him.
Martin's hand lay on the table, since he had stopped eating for a moment and was looking down. I reached out my hand and placed it lightly on his. I remember exactly what I said for I chose my words carefully. "Martin, when I go to someone's home for dinner, I try to always compliment their cooking and if there is something about it that I don't particularly like, I usually just keep quiet about it. Your frankness and medical advice sometimes come across harshly. But I want us to be friends you know."
He sat still for a moment and then relaxed a bit. He looked at our hands, lying lightly together on the table and lifted his eyes to mine. "I do like the casserole Louisa," he said, "it's just that you seemed to want to know about how I like things served - you did ask me when you invited me - and, as I said, I am always thinking like a doctor."
We finished dinner and I invited Martin to sit down on the couch again. This time, I sat on the other end and stretched my arm out along the back.. It was so lovely with the sun setting over the water. I then asked Martin what he did during the time when he wasn't working. He told me that the vast majority of his time was spent working but in the evenings, if he had time before spending time reading medical journals, he mended antique clocks. So solitary. No wonder he had so much trouble with conversation. I asked him to tell me about the clocks and he began to get a bit animated as he discussed his hobby. I understood that he had been interested in clocks and watches since he was a young boy and had torn apart and mended every clock he could find, much to his nanny's chagrin.
"Your nanny?" I had questioned. He then began to share about his parents and what seemed to me a complete lack of interest in their young son. He seemed to accept this as normal. I knew that if I had a child in my school with parents who acted the way that Martin's apparently had, I would likely be trying to intervene in some way.
I then asked him about coming to Portwenn as a child, since I had heard a part of his radio interview with my friend Caroline. His face relaxed more than I had seen it all evening as he told me of his summers with Joan. I made a remark that it was interesting that we had never met. "Perhaps we did," he said. "I am a bit older than you Louisa and you would have been a baby, most likely."
I had told him I wasn't that much younger than he was and I grinned. I made some remark about someone seeing him leave tonight and thinking he was robbing the cradle. He instantly looked shocked and frowned. "It was just a joke Martin," I had said.
I looked out of the window a bit at the beautiful picture placed before us and sighed. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" I had asked. Martin looked out and then back at me. "Yes it is," he said in a velvety tone of voice I hadn't heard from him before. Inside I began to feel like that schoolgirl again, wanting his arms around me.
I just looked into his eyes. He sat perfectly still and so I moved closer and closer still. I looked down at my hands and waited. At last he put his fingers under my chin and lifted my head. He looked at me once more as if to gain permission and then kissed me gently. So gently. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him back, with a bit more presure. He began to tangle his fingers in my hair as we continued to kiss.
I ran my fingers over his short hair, finding it so soft to my touch and a small sigh escaped my lips. Then I gripped him more tightly than before. He stopped for a moment and took off his suit jacket. He leaned toward me again and I began to tug at his tie to loosen it.
At last we pulled apart. We held each other's gaze a moment and then he dropped his eyes to his lap. I continued to softly touch his hair and then leaned over to nibble on his neck. Then I sat back and just looked at him. I said softly, "Martin, why don't you take off that tie and lean back on the sofa?"
He did as I asked and even unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. It made me feel so good inside to see him, Martin the uptight, Martin the grouch, Martin the rude, relaxed and giving me all of his attention. "I'm glad you came tonight Martin, I said."
"I am as well, Louisa. And I apologize if I hurt you with my remarks about dinner."
"Shush," I said and kissed him again. "Can I tell you a secret Martin?" I asked.
"Yes, Louisa. I always keep patients' conversations confidential," he said.
"Not a medical secret," I had said. Then I began to tell him about the fact that, the other night at the dance, I had wished and wished that he would come, and then he was there and I was afraid he might think I was beginning a relationship with Mark when nothing was further from the truth.
He had replied that he had wondered if that was happening but that Mark had made it clear to him that it was not.
I told him that yes, before I could talk to Mark, he had come to me himself and said that the dance had been great but that he really didn't see a future for us. I said that I had chuckled to myself but hadn't wanted to hurt Mark's feelings.
"What do you see in your future, Martin?" I had asked him.
He had looked down at his hands and then up at me. He swallowed. "Being a GP I suppose. Maybe one day going back into surgery but I haven't given that much thought lately."
And then I did it. I asked him, "What have you given your thoughts to?"
"You," he said.
