On a purely medical level, I perfectly understood the reaction I'd had. The hypothalamus had performed as part of the limbic system and reacted to the robust neural reaction I'd experienced in response to visual stimuli. It was all quite logical really.
Emotionally, though, I am bewildered. I'd walked in, laid eyes on her and been completely broad sided.
As I'd tried to rationalise my response, my mind was reeling with a sort of sceptical confusion. A beautiful stranger whom I have never seen before but yet is instantly recognisable. A vitality, an energy, that is fresh but somehow so familiar.
I am riveted to the spot and, for the briefest moment, I cannot avert my eyes from hers.
Even offered hesitatingly, her smile is luminous.
She calls me by my name, and I know for absolute certain.
Wheezer.
The intensity of my response does not seem to make any sense to me and I am thoroughly disconcerted, finding myself inexplicably drawn to her, and gazing in her direction at every opportunity. Strangely, she seemed to have some sort of sixth sense about my regard and, endeavouring not to be discovered, I find myself averting my eyes frequently and inventing a preposterous fascination with a ridiculous statue of the Lucky Cat which is positioned on the dividing wall, above her left shoulder.
As we sit opposite one another and share our meal, things to which I'd never previously attached any importance suddenly came sharply into focus. Initially it was her out and out delight at the simple experience of sharing a sashimi platter, and her willingness to follow my suggestions and sample everything I'd selected from the menu. While Auntie Joan had been happy with her teriyaki chicken, our meal had been somewhat more daring and I'm impressed by Louisa's enthusiasm to experiment. She tastes everything I recommended and the way her eyes sparkle as she seeks the words to describe her experience, both positive and apologetically less impressed, is quite distracting.
She is so totally refreshing yet somehow so familiar and I find myself recalling her teenage feistiness, and her determination not to be cowed by circumstance. Knowing what I do of her past, I am somehow relieved that she has not only survived her upbringing, but her warmth and her joy are seemingly so undiminished.
For a moment, I silently admire her deftness with chopsticks until she explains with a rueful grin that Chinese takeaways and pot noodles are a staple within her shared house. From a nutritional point of view, I am horrified but I managed to keep my opinion to myself this time. I was conscious of the upset I had caused everyone at the table when I'd cautioned Auntie Joan on her desire to take a glass of red wine. She who, even ten years ago, hiccuped her way through most meals, and complained of chronic indigestion every time we spoke on the phone. It was idiocy, and I told her so but, immediately, I could tell that I'd made Louisa uncomfortable. Water off a duck's back to Auntie Joan but Louisa had momentarily lost her radiance and I regretted that.
She'd held my gaze thoughtfully for a moment and then, despite her obvious unease, she had spoken up, diplomatically, and suggested a compromise that left both of us with some dignity. Even if I didn't agree with the sentiments, I couldn't help but begrudgingly admire Louisa's skill since I was devoid of it myself.
I notice that her face, when thoughtful and in repose, is even lovelier and I can't help but stare. Unselfconscious. Natural. Inevitably, she senses my appreciative gaze upon her, glances up, and suddenly I'm peering at the bloody cat again. I listen impassively as they discuss village life and, as my Aunt details a tedious litany of dubious morals, crass stupidity and infantile behaviour, I can't help it as my attention drifts.
Now that my mind has processed both Louisas, and they are assimilated in my mind, the war of attrition begins within me. I'm used to negative self-appraisal but, this time, it seems really to sting.
You are a bloody fool Ellingham...
What the hell has got into you?
You are tired and not thinking correctly...
Remember, the risk is never worth the reward...
You have nothing to offer her anyway...
Don't make a fool of yourself...
Leave now and no harm is done.
The bill arrives, I take care of it, and Auntie Joan informs me that it's time to go. I excuse myself and return to the bathroom, ostensibly to wash my hands but, in truth, I need a moment to collect my thoughts. My behaviour is preposterous and nonsensical and, worst of all, embarrassing. I return to the table, composed, and now my only dilemma is the issue of her watch. Whatever fervid sort of trance I've been in all afternoon, it's not Louisa's fault. I have offered to mend it and I will be true to my word.
Whatever practical solution I had for the situation, Louisa has other ideas. She plucked the pen from my hand, defiantly, with just the hint of a provocative smile flickering across her face. I exist in a complex and competitive world of intellect and ego-driven achievement yet even my professional colleagues would think twice before crossing swords with me. But not Louisa; with her eyes lowered and her long dark lashes emphasised against her creamily perfect skin as she writes down her contact details, her simple little challenge to my plan had merely served to make her even more captivating.
I'd stood awkwardly as she and my aunt hugged goodbye, and I'd been relieved just to have to nod coolly as she'd departed with a wistful smile and a slight wave of her hand.
I was pleased that my car was in the other direction and that our strange, awkward lunch was over. As if I needed another reason to berate myself later, for some inexplicable reason I decided to poke the beast one last time, and I cast a final admiring glance back at her as, hips swinging, she retreated into the distance.
I wore the resultant lurch in my abdomen like a hair shirt as Auntie Joan and I walked back to my car. I slid into my seat and, immediately, I was once more disconcerted as I noticed my hospital ID in the centre console. I stared at it for a minute as the memory of what had happened that morning came flooding back, and it was reassuring that I had regained my composure, and my former levels of anger and frustration had not returned. On the other hand, I experienced the slightly shocking realisation that, over the course of our lunch, probably from the minute I had sat down, I hadn't given the debacle of the morning's cancelled surgery a second thought. I was, quite frankly, astonished.
In my car, on the drive back to Ruth's flat, I didn't have a moment to consider the implications though, as all my energy was spent attempting to stonewall Auntie Joan's curiosity and innuendo. She sat upright in her seat, an expression on her face like a smug duchess, and cast meaningful sideways glances at me.
"You remembered Louisa, of course?" She asks and, instantly, there is the hint of something in her voice.
"Umm, yes." I replied airily.
I freely admit that I don't have a great memory for names and faces but I certainly recalled the child Louisa was at fourteen. Pale faced and thin, with huge green eyes and thick dark hair, worn in a ragged bob that looked like she'd cut it herself with sheep shears.
"We were all so concerned for her, do you remember, at that meeting?" Auntie Joan has now turned sideways in her seat and is studying my face.
"Umm, from what I recall, it wasn't a promising scenario." I mutter.
I picture her, standing in the kitchen of a tiny, half empty cottage, defiant and determined to stay in her village, clutching her pathetic box of keepsakes.
"Such a delightful young woman." My aunt says casually. "Don't you think?"
"Mmm." I reply non-committally, and I immediately recall that simply observing Louisa remove her jacket, in broad daylight, in a crowded room, had distracted me to the point of discomfort. In hindsight, it was an utterly ridiculous reaction.
"Do you think you'll be able to sort her out? I mean, her watch?" She asks and I detect a sly inflection in her voice.
Of course I had noticed the watch. I'd been inexplicably drawn in by the allure of her escaped lock of hair; and found myself staring at her beautiful face, which is a mask of concentration as she reaches up elegantly to recapture the errant wisp. It's just hair Ellingham, I tell myself, disgusted by my own weakness. But still I remain transfixed until the spell is suddenly broken. Louisa lets out an irrepressible giggle of frustration, and I wrench my gaze away yet again to stare instead at that blasted cat, as she finally concedes defeat and tucks her hair nonchalantly behind her ears.
"Ummm...I don't know...yes. Possibly."
I glance over and notice her smug look has returned.
"I think she'd really appreciate it. Terry, her father, is still inside you know. It hasn't been easy for her, Marty."
"Mmmm. She, errr, she seems very fond of you."
"As I said, Louisa's a lovely girl and I'm very proud of her."
All I'm prepared to offer in response is an ambiguous murmur. Even if I could unravel my own complicated feelings, which seem to have arisen as a direct result of this acknowledged loveliness, I am not about to discuss them with anyone. Auntie Joan can try any angle she cares to but I've decided we are at the end of our conversation. It's been an exhausting day and I'm distracted, bewildered and about to reach my absolute limits. A familiar desperation for the calm serenity of my flat envelops me and I descend into stupefied silence.
Moments later I pull up outside Ruth's flat and I'm incredibly relieved that there is no parking so I can't stop longer than to let Auntie Joan out. I give her a quick peck on the cheek and make my excuses, accelerating away into the traffic as soon as she is safely out of the car. I don't even look in the rear vision mirror, such is my need to get away.
I have several weeks ahead where I will barely have a moment spare and I'm concerned that any opportunity to look at the watch will be non existent. I want to see what I can discover this evening and, tomorrow, I might have the chance to order what I need to repair it. I have a reasonable selection of instruments that are fine enough to use on watches but, then again, I'm not sure what I will discover when I start to pull it apart. For some reason, it feels imperative that I am able to restore Louisa's watch to full working order.
In my office, where I keep my tools, my magnifying glasses and my silver hallmark book, amongst other things, I have installed a series of glass shelves. Displayed upon these, and well lit by gallery quality light fittings, are the beginnings of my collection of interesting antiquities. I have my great-grandfather's half plate bellows camera, the silver oil can that I'd retrieved from Uncle Phil's workshop, an exquisite French carriage clock that I'd restored myself, and a rare antique brass seismograph I'd purchased at auction. Somewhat incongruously, on the bottom shelf sat my determined little pilot in his wonderfully patinated clockwork boat. I stretched out my arm and gently straightened him.
As chaotic and emotional as that long ago weekend must have been for Louisa she'd actually remembered the clockwork boat too. And her enquiry was not in the scornful or disparaging way that most people seem to react to my private interests; she actually seemed genuinely curious. Suspicious of her motives, I'd searched her face only to discover a soft, wide-eyed sincerity. Thinking about her response now makes my chest tighten.
Then, as I sit down at my desk, I have an incredible moment of clarity in an otherwise deeply confusing day.
I feel something; a tiny flicker of warmth, the barest flush, only akin to the heat from a struck match on an icy morning. Not only do I feel it, but I allow it to exist for some time, without rushing to extinguish it for fear of it becoming dangerous. So delicate, so fragile, so esoteric as to be almost imperceptible it is nevertheless the beginning of an awakening; and it is a stirring which I make not even the most ineffectual effort to quash.
