Author's Note: Thanks to all who have been reading and especially to those who have been so kind to review. Your critiques and encouragement mean the world to me. No medical jargon this time, but a satsuma is a tiny Japanese orange, kind of like a mandarin.

Losing It

Chapter 14 – Blood Pudding

Hope looked at herself in the mirror as she arranged her hair that evening, and decided Rose had been right – this was the night for THE dress. The garment in question had been purchased in Paris the previous summer. Buoyed by a fat fee for a lengthy trial over a breach of contract case, Grace had treated her sisters to a long weekend in Paris to celebrate her 40th birthday. They'd had a super time and had egged each other on in a hunt through the shops to find each of them one perfect dream of a dress.

Hope's dress was silk chiffon the color of honey. It was gathered at each shoulder and dropped in pleats to a daring vee both back and front. It had a very fitted wide band around her middle, and then flared into soft folds over her hips to end just above her knees. It showed off her lovely figure to perfection, and left her arms and much of her shoulders and her upper back bare. The warm colour suited her skin tones perfectly, and brought out the honey-toned highlights in her hair and her eyes. She had found delicate high-heeled sandals of burnished gold leather and a matching clutch bag in a different Parisian boutique, and then added chandelier earrings of crystals strung on fine gold wire at a street stall in Montmartre.

The whole ensemble had cost at least two week's pay, and she'd protested to her sisters that she would never have anywhere to wear it. She'd eventually given in when each of them had similarly splurged, and tonight she was grateful. Grace had been right – every woman needs a dress in which she feels absolutely confident of her own beauty. This is the dress that did that for Hope. And she looked exquisite.

After some debate and a phone call to Rose, she had pulled the front part of her hair back in some clips, leaving the back a cascade of curls over her shoulders. There were some curling tendrils around her face to soften it but not hide the glittering earrings. The effect of the hairstyle, the jewelry and the neckline was to highlight her long, elegant neck and her décolletage in a very becoming manner. She'd added some smoky eye-shadow and rosy lipstick and light dusting of apricot-tinted powder. The overall look was soft and romantic and very beautiful.

As she waited for Martin to arrive, she glanced around her bedroom to make sure it was tidy. She always did that, but somehow there was an extra frission of excitement as she did it this time, allowing herself just a moment to fantasize that she might not be coming back alone. Stop being silly, she told herself, sternly. He seems to be taking things very slowly. And besides, he's already seen it in here anyway.

She went downstairs tucking her mobile, her lipstick and other necessities, including her travel toothbrush, into the clutch. She looked again in the mirror to make sure she didn't have lipstick on her teeth or hair caught in her zip. She hoped Martin wouldn't have any trouble with Friday night traffic.

Martin pulled up right on time and rang her bell, fingering his tie just a bit nervously and holding a paper sack. As the blue door opened and he saw her standing there, his mouth literally went dry. He was simply stunned.

Hope stepped back into the room, drawing him in and said, "Good evening, Martin."

"Er, good evening." He couldn't take his eyes off her. She noticed his stares and blushed becomingly, feeling a bit more powerful knowing she was having this effect on him.

He handed her the paper bag. "These are for you – satsumas."

"Thank you," she said, "no one has ever brought me satsumas before."

He wanted to say that they were small and sweet and reminded him of her, but he couldn't form the words. He resorted to medical-speak and said, "I thought the vitamin C would be good for your immune system, since flu season is starting."

She was touched that he had thought of her well-being instead of just trying to impress her with orchids or something, but a nagging feeling that he was instead thinking about her cancer crossed her mind. She frowned for just a second, and then crossed to the table to add them to the fruit bowl. They did make a lovely visual addition to the golden bananas and crisp green apples already there.

"Shall we go, then?" she said brightly, walking back to him. "My sister tells me this restaurant is really someplace special and I am looking forward to it."

Watching Hope move in that dress was even more distracting to Martin. Nothing he'd seen of her up to now had prepared him for how she looked tonight, for the tantalizing view of the silk whispering over her hips and her legs and her bottom. He felt he was going to embarrass himself. He wanted to tell her how wonderful she looked but he was tongue-tied. "You look . . . you look. . ." he began, then added, lamely, "you look like you might need a coat. It's a bit chilly out."

She nodded and took a cream wool car coat from the coat tree in the corner. He helped her into it, grateful both for something constructive to do and for the chance to be close to her. As he stood behind her, holding the coat, he smelled her hair and the floral notes he had come to recognize as her shampoo. Tonight there was a musky overtone. "Are you wearing perfume?" he asked.

She nodded, as she turned around, the coat now properly buttoned. "Sandalwood. Do you like it?"

"I do."

X X X X X

Ciel was all that had been promised and more. Hope overlooked Martin's gruffness, some might have called it rudeness, with the car parker and the wine waiter, thinking he might be as nervous as she was in this environment. She was fascinated hearing him talk opera with the maitre d', not knowing that this had been the key to securing the coveted table. She filed away for future reference his preference for La Boehme over Madame Butterfly.

They both took Odd's advice and ordered the sole. The waiter only sneered a little when they asked for the Véronique sauce on the side. While they waited, they chatted amiably. He told her a bit about his work on his clock and the article he'd been reading in Lancet about heart valve replacements. She filled him in selectively on some hospital gossip. Since he knew Susan Millington, a cardiology consultant at St. Thomas's with whom Hope had shared a flat in their student days, she gave him the edited highlights of the hen party. This made him roll his eyes and think again how strange women's rituals were.

Hope indulged in the raspberry soufflé while Martin preferred the cheese course. While they sipped their coffee, she asked him about the concert he had planned for later. She was surprised when he told her they'd be hearing a Spanish flamenco guitarist at a well-known West End night club. That sounded so romantic. She was too shy to say so, so she instead asked him if he'd ever played a musical instrument. When he told her he hadn't, she regaled him with the story of her own days as an indifferent piano student and how she'd muddled up the pages of her sheet music and disgraced herself at her recital at the age of 10. He smiled with her.

Although they felt a bit self-conscious, out of their usual comfort zones, to the staff and the other diners they appeared to be just another elegant couple out on the town – the tall blond man in his well-tailored suit and the petite beauty in her Parisian finery. The waiter had noted the absence of wedding rings and their longing looks with his practiced eye and figured this must be a third or fourth date. He smiled to himself, wondering what the rest of the evening would hold for them.

As he helped her into her coat after dinner, Martin felt bold enough to let his arm slip around her waist and pull her just a bit closer. It stayed around her as they exited and waited for the car. His hand slid to the small of her back as he guided her to the passenger door and helped her in. He felt more confident now that he had navigated the tony restaurant and he marveled again at how lucky he was to be spending this remarkable evening with Hope.

The club was dark and intimate. They were seated on a banquette, side by side, with a tiny table before them and on it a flickering candle in a glass holder. A cocktail waitress brought Hope a glass of brandy and Martin a glass of water. As the lights went down and the music began, Martin saw Hope take her hand off her glass and put it down on the banquette between them. Ever so slowly he moved his hand to cover it. She looked up and smiled as he did, reassuring him that she was happy with this turn of events. He squeezed her hand and settled in to enjoy the music.

There was short interval and Hope excused herself for the loo. While she was there, she cleaned her teeth in the tiny sink to get rid of the taste of the brandy. She had kind of a thing about clean teeth and fresh breath, especially if she thought she might get a kiss. When she came back, she made sure to slide just a little bit closer to Martin, her shoulder bumping his. She hoped he would get the message and wrap his arm around her. Her telepathy seemed to be working as he gave her a long look, then placed his arm carefully across her back. She shivered as he touched her bare shoulder and that provided the excuse for him to pull her even closer so she was cuddled up against him. She bent her head to his shoulder, and rested it there contentedly.

Martin scarcely noticed the music in the second half. He clapped politely at the indicated moments, but his mind was on the feel of Hope - the silkiness of her skin under his hand, the way her hair tickled against the side of his face, the soft curve of her breast against his chest where their bodies met. He had seen her hundreds of times in scrubs and never imagined what might be underneath. Now it was hard to not undress her in his mind.

X X X X X

"Here we are, then," Martin said as he pulled the car up in front of Hope's house.

Hope watched him carefully, wondering what would come next. He turned off the engine and that raised her spirits.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Martin. It was all very special. I enjoyed myself very much."

"Thank you for coming. You are good company." He cringed a bit as he said that. This was not what you said to the most charming woman you'd known in a long time. He was really having a hard time making his brain work.

She looked up at him and sensed his uncertainty. She wasn't sure what he was uncertain about – her or what to say to her.

"Would you like to come in – we could have a coffee or a glass of whiskey or something?"

He looked at her, grateful at the invitation, wondering exactly what 'or something' entailed. He wasn't sure. Perhaps if he probed a bit he could sense what she had in mind.

"Well it's a bit late for coffee, and after last week I am not sure I'll be having any whiskey for a long while." He let this hang in the air, willing her to clarify the invitation.

She was crestfallen at what she perceived as outright rejection. She had been so sure he had been interested, so sure he would want to hold her again, to kiss her as he had on Sunday, maybe even to take things to the next level. How more obvious could she have been in extending the invitation for a nightcap? The air was out of the balloon now. The confidence she had felt in her new dress was gone.

Another, more sinister, thought crossed her mind. He had held her and kissed her on Sunday after hearing the story of her cancer, the loss of her dreams. It was pity. She was sure of it now. He found her pathetic. This had been a mercy date. That's why he had brought her the fruit instead of flowers or a more personal gift– he was simply concerned about her health.

Martin was unaware of what was racing through Hope's mind. He reached to take her hand across the console and was surprised when she snatched it back. He was bewildered. She had seemed pleased for him to hold her hand, to put his arm around her in the nightclub. What had he done? He thought again about how little he understood women.

"Martin," she began, trying to hold back both tears and outrage, "I don't need or want your pity. If the only reason you took me out was because you felt sorry for me, because of the cancer thing, then I want you to go away and leave me alone."

"What are you talking about?" He was truly confused.

She looked at him. Was it possible she had misread this? She'd thought she'd better try again. She took his hand and looked straight at him to make sure there was no doubt about what she was saying.

"Martin, I'm sorry if I misunderstood you. I just want to make this clear. I like you very much. I thought you were beginning to like me too. I think it would be nice if you came in, but only if you want to. Only if you want to be with me, not because you feel sorry for me or because you feel grateful to me or for any reason other than you want to be with me."

He looked at her, speechless. He unhooked his seatbelt and opened his door.

This is it, she thought. He's going to walk me to the door and say goodbye and that will be it. She wondered if Rosie were home – she might need some moral support in her disappointment.

He came around to her side of the car and opened the door. He extended his hand to help her out. When she stood up, he closed the door behind her. She heard the little chirp as he locked the car. Side by side they walked to her door, not touching or looking at one another. She fumbled in her bag for the keys.

As she did, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her towards him. He took one hand and tipped her face up to him.

"Hope, pity is the very last thing on my mind. I'm not any good at small talk or discussing feelings or even at dating. The only thing on my mind tonight has been being with you. It's been the main thing on my mind all week. I don't know how I gave you any other impression."

Hope smiled widely as she looked up at him and swallowed the lump in her throat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss that held volumes of promise. After what seemed like an age, she pulled away long enough to unlock the door and draw him inside. He followed, eagerly, thinking 'or something' might be very nice indeed.