Chapter 26 – Happy

"Now," I whispered to Martin, who somehow had ended up flat on his back with me draped over him like a succubus, "how was that?"

He pressed his lips to mine. "Amazing," he said after a long kiss.

"I thought so too," I answered.

He softly ran a hand over my shoulder and down my back. "You know…"

"Yes?"

"We do need some sleep; tonight, I mean."

"Oh." I breathed into his ear. "Plenty of time for sleep, Martin. Going somewhere Saturday?"

"When, Louisa?" he gently hissed into my ear. "The way we've been carrying on… like a couple of teenagers."

"You don't like it?" The nerve of the man. "You'll have to get used to it then."

His hands stopped near my waist. "I suppose I shall."

"You suppose?" I lightly slapped his cheek.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "But seriously, uhm… I should likely go to Wadebridge tomorrow and check on Mrs. Tishell. Make a statement to her doctors. They likely have her shot up with tranks tonight…"

I dropped a well-manicured hand over his mouth. "Martin!" I hissed at him. "Let's not talk about Sally. Don't spoil the romance, for God's sake! It's been far too long as it is!"

I could just make out his face in the dark. "Yes. I suppose you are right."

"Of course I'm right, Martin." I slid off of his broad chest and flopped onto my back. His hand came over and held mine; our fingers interlaced automatically. Hard to believe all that had happened in the past few hours. There was one thing, though, I wanted to ask, and one more to mention.

"Martin?" I began, "after dinner, when we came upstairs, and I was nursing James…" I hesitated.

"What Louisa?"

I took a deep breath. "I heard you shaving; with your electric razor."

"Yes."

"Why'd you do that?"

"I, uhm… had stubble."

"Yes. But you shaved."

"Yes."

"Why? You never did that before at night, not even… uhm, last year - at night I mean."

"Oh." He squeezed my hand and rolled onto his side, his mouth at my ear. "I examined a couple this week that were staying up at Pentire Castle. The woman… erh, perhaps, I shouldn't discuss this."

"Don't tell me their names. Will that do?"

"Yes. Good idea. They uh, being, newlywed… were engaging in… frequent… sessions… of intercourse… apparently, based on the stubble rash the girl had on her face. Or so I thought. Turned out it was caused by a sample aftershave the man was using, which gave her epidermal irritation." He lay next to me uncomfortably, quite different from moments ago when we definitely not uncomfortable with each other.

What? "Sorry, Martin. I lost the thread there. What has that got to do with you shaving this evening?" Then it hit me. "You did it for me. You shaved for me?"

Martin sighed. "Yes, Louisa. I didn't want to… mark you… hurt you… that is, if we… uhm, if we…"

"Made love; that it?"

He relaxed slightly. "Yes… if we made love."

I turned onto my side to face him and kissed him tenderly on the lips, cheeks, and forehead. "Thank you, Martin." I cradled his body. "That makes me happy."

"Does it?" He rubbed my neck. "Good. If you're happy… then that makes me happy, Louisa."

Happy? Did Doctor Martin Ellingham just say that he was happy? Happy because I was happy? A miracle – a bona fide miracle. I half expected a choir of angels to start singing at that moment. I listened but only heard the wind whistling about the cottage.

I snuggled closer to Martin. I never called him Marty – that was Joan's name for the little boy she remembered. I never called him Doc Martin, which he hated – likely the one thing he hated the most about Portwenn. No, he was Martin – always Martin. Even his Aunt Ruth called him that. It was an adult name, one worthy of respect.

And respect was the one thing he clearly wanted. Given what I suspected, or outright knew about Martin Ellingham, he deserved respect. I wondered how many times he had been teased, bullied, or outright abused at school, or at home for that matter.

Still waters, Louisa. Still waters. Time will tell that tale.

"You're happy," I told the man.

"Yes," he started to say, sounding rather surprised. "Happier than I've been… well, for such a long time."

"For about a year?"

"About. But… when the baby was born… James Henry was born… I was happy then. I mean that he was born, and healthy, and that you were his mother."

I sighed, recalling that lovely birth experience in a pub with no pain relief, no firm supportive mattress under me, no pastel walls or soothing music. But there was something he'd just said.

"That I was his mother?"

"Yes. You, Louisa."

That time I did hear a choir singing as it must have been a miracle to hear those words come from the mouth of Doctor Martin Ellingham. Or perhaps it was just voices on the wind.

But the more I listened intently, the heavenly choir seemed to be shouting.