Martin couldn't stop pacing. He'd walked miles on this carpet, so it felt. He was back in his hotel room, pacing around, going from the windows where he could see the night view of the city to the door and back. He couldn't stop thinking of her, Louisa. Dear, sweet, Louisa, and he'd caught a glimpse of her and heard her voice. Why, then, was he such a bloody mess?
Clearly, Martin realized that part of his problem was that Louisa needed medical attention. He'd heard her discuss how she was tired and not feeling well, and he knew that she must need her iron levels examined. Louisa deserved a certain duty of care, a duty Martin could provide. He'd told himself that he just needed that glimpse, and he firmly believed it. However, he had not taken into consideration that perhaps Louisa might need something from him, proper medical care.
Martin continued to pace, and suddenly, he had made up his mind. He would not rest until he'd thoroughly examined her and was certain she was well here in her new life in London. Bloody mess. Had he not come here, he would not know she was in need of care. She might not receive proper care if he had not come. It was a ridiculously impossible situation.
Quickly, Martin grabbed his bag and dark raincoat, because in all of his pacing, he'd noticed it was raining in London. Being December, the temperature was probably just hovering above freezing, making the evening quite miserable. Martin threw open his hotel room door, and he marched with vigor to the lift. He would put his mind to ease and simply provide medical care Louisa needed.
As Martin made his way out of the hotel, rationalized his decision. Louisa needed medical care, care that he needed to do in person. A phone call would not suffice, and besides that, how would he explain inquiring about her on the phone? He couldn't tell her he'd been stalking her and had hidden in the bathroom, listening to her conversation. No, this was something he would have to approach differently.
Martin made his way toward her building in the early evening London night. Too many people were buzzing about, all jolly at the idea of Christmas a week away, headed to parties and dinners with loved ones. He hadn't even considered the idea. He'd have to get Joan something, maybe a pair of slippers or something. She always liked practical things like that. He never wanted nor needed anything and didn't understand the fuss of gifts. Had he and Louisa gotten married as planned, he would be spending the holiday with her and would have had to find a suitable gift for her. As he walked, he realized he wasn't sure what that would have been. As much as he loved Louisa, and he did love her, for really the first time, he was aware he didn't know what she really liked. She liked him, or she had until he'd mucked it all up. She liked being a teacher, liked the students. What else did she like? He couldn't give her anything like that. Those weren't "things" to give, not him, not students or children. She seemed to like flowers, although, they seemed highly impractical to him and just something of a nuisance. She seemed to like perfume, even though he didn't like many scents at all. Scented things irritated him, especially lavender. That made him want to gag, just something about it. That perfume she'd worn, the flower one, not lavender, well, he shook his head. That night had ended in bloody disaster when he'd simply tried to share his medical interest with her regarding the scents from her perfume. What did it matter anyway what gift he would have gotten her? Louisa had left; she'd left him and the village, all to spread her wings and start a new life. Martin just needed to make sure she was medically set for that new life.
Martin had been in such a state on his walk over to Louisa's building, he paused in the door to catch his breath; he was winded and also realized he had not considered coming face to face with Louisa. Just as he had rationalized he could not call her on the phone to ask about her medical issues, he also realized he could not just bring it up easily here too. Martin put his hand against the wall and looked down to catch his breath and think through this situation. He was hot and sweaty, this blasted coat making him hot, even though, it was keeping the light drizzle off of him. Martin looked around. He was standing in the small doorframe of the building. It was a disgusting old building, one he would never enter otherwise. He hated the idea of Louisa living here, but she'd made it clear this was the life she desired, alone in London, starting over, without him. Martin's mind thought through several scenarios until he was confident he could give her a satisfactory answer as to his appearing on her doorstep. He continued to slow his breathing; she could not be under the impression he had run here, even though he almost had. He could explain his presence with a lot of fact, and what was not fact, he would just stretch as much as he could. Slowly, he looked up, up at the old staircase, and he started to climb. These bloody old buildings. No lift in sight, and he decided, after one look at the cleanliness of things, not to touch the staircase or anything else. He shook his head-he didn't make Louisa happy, but this did?
Martin looked up. There was now just a staircase and a few walls separating him from her. He started up the stairs. As he did, a door flew open above, and suddenly, he was surrounded with a larger group rushing down the stairs. By his account, based on their dress, they were headed out for the night to the pubs. Ghastly. He'd never understood it and stood rigid as the group descended onto the staircase where he was. He grimaced as they passed, all of them already intoxicated to some level. Why did people feel the need to let themselves go and become intoxicated on a regular basis? He didn't understand at all. Wine. He raised his finger in triumph. Yes, perhaps he would have gotten her a nice bottle of wine for Christmas this year. She did enjoy wine, and as he thought about it, he decided that would have been a good gift, something to make her happy. He continued his trek up the stairs. Yes, he knew Louisa enjoyed alcohol at times, but he didn't believe she was on to let herself go like this either, a nod with her not feeling well, he was certain he would find her at home. Home in this wretched building. Perhaps he should ask her about any illness being liked to cleanliness because this place was certainly not.
The paper in his hand was almost illegible. His sweat mixed with how many times he'd looked at the paper had turned it into a mess. He clutched it again after glancing at the door address. Here he was. This was her door. Ghastly again. The paint was chipped and peeling everywhere. The frame for the door was cracked. There were larger, visible cracks in the walls. The light down the hall flickered even just as Martin stood there. Rubbish. If he had any say, he'd be rid of this entire building. Before he knocked, Martin ran his hand down over his suit. He could almost hear his heart beating, which was impossible; one could not hear their heart with the naked ear. Perhaps he should listen with his stethoscope to make sure he was not having any palpitations? No, he shook his head at the thought. This visit was about Louisa. She needed proper care that he could took a deep breath. He couldn't hear anything, well, except for what he thought was his heart pounding. Now, he had an idea of what the madman in Poe's "Tell Tale Heart" felt with the notion of the pounding heart taking over his thoughts. He needed to do this. With one last hand sweep over his tie and suit coat, Martin took a deep breath and knocked.