The end of the academic year had arrived with bewildering speed. For each of the four residents of the grim Graham Terrace flat, the examination weeks had provided different but still equally challenging sets of circumstances. For Louisa, it was very much a case of maintaining the status quo; her focus, and her ability to filter out the noise of everyday life, was now well established and her coursework revision was merely an extension of that. Of course, there had been one very large distraction over the last month that she'd had to work particularly hard to ignore but, other than the occasional anxious flutter in her chest, or moments where she found herself staring dreamily at blurring lines of text, she had managed to maintain her concentration. Not long after Joan's birthday, however, she'd had to take conscious steps to ground her alarming flights of fantasy by setting her much anticipated reunion with her watch, and with Martin of course, as some sort of special reward at the end of what promised to be an arduous month. While it pleased her that, the more she practised managing her excitement at the prospect, the more proficient she became, even if she did allow herself a little leniency in the fantasy department as she lay at night in her narrow, little bed.
Holly, the ardent Thatcherite, had been lying low since the March Poll Tax riots, practicing her cello in the safe confines of her top floor bedroom and, much to everyone's relief, seldom mentioning her habitual obsession, the Young Conservatives. She hadn't sought re-election on to the Tennis Club committee, preferring instead to spend hours studying in the library, arriving early in order to secure her preferred vantage point: a desk adjacent to the well stocked shelves in the Legal Studies Section. As well as completing her revision, she was also perfectly placed to observe an almost endless procession of Law students, even singling one or two of particular interest out for some special attention. So far, she hadn't cornered anyone she considered significant but it was early days and she'd decided that fluttering ones eyelashes at good looking young men was rather a pleasant interlude in the intense daily routine of her studies.
After observing at close quarters the rather battered and bloody aftermath of the Trafalgar Square riots, and experiencing the anger on campus after that horrifying weekend, her flat mates had been quite amused at Holly's abrupt political about-face. When it seemed like most of the country was turning on the Iron Lady, and her days appeared to be numbered, Holly's sudden abandonment of her heroine, and her repudiation of her conservative principles, had surprised them all. As Libby had so astutely observed, it seemed obvious that Holly's fundamental beliefs only extended as far as wanting to be on the winning team.
By the final weeks of the spring term, Toni's patience with the mild, genial Giles had all but expired and her frustration with his seeming contentment to bumble along through life as some sort of Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps figure had exploded one night early in April. He'd been bewildered by her anger, and her accusations of something she called a commitment phobia, and had watched open-mouthed as she had abandoned him outside Wembley Stadium, after the Happy Monday's concert, totally mystified as to why she seemed so jolly miffed. For several consecutive weeks, the flat's usual vague smell of drains had been replaced by rather more floral notes as he'd regularly sent roses, lilies and even stocks, in the vain hope that Toni would take him back but, to her housemates surprise, she stood firm.
It also became clear to her that, now she was officially single again, it might be prudent to take a greater interest in her studies and, to that end, Toni threw herself into endless hours of desperate, last-minute revision. As the realisation of how far behind she'd slipped dawned on her, she became testy, difficult and sullen. She clashed frequently with an unsympathetic Holly and, without sweet, generous Giles to front up with his credit card, Toni was forced to participate in the dismally frugal meals the flatmates shared each evening. It all came to a head when her disparaging comments about Holly's addition of curry powder to the Baked Bean sandwiches ignited a smouldering ember of resentment that had been simmering for several weeks. As Toni's laden plate was launched across the kitchen, smashing into the brown mosaic tiled wall above the cooker, Louisa shrunk down in her seat, observing in stunned silence, while Libby looked on with a sort of wry amusement, resisting the urge to throw in a few inflammatory statements of her own as Holly fled up the stairs to her room and Toni bolted for the safety of the bathroom.
Later as Libby sponged the wall and Louisa disposed of the last decaying bunch of stock, pouring the putrid water from the vase and holding her breath as the stench threatened to overwhelm her, they'd decided to abandon ship and head to the pub, leaving their two overwrought housemates to their mutual antipathy. Louisa had been poring over her textbooks all day and had been keen for an early night but Libby had implored her to go out, promising that they'd just have one round, two at the absolute most, so she'd reluctantly conceded, and despite it being a Tuesday they'd wandered off around the corner to their local.
The Fox and Hound had been quiet and they'd easily been able to find a comfortable booth in which to sit. Libby had got the first round in, vodka, lemon, lime and bitters for her and a Chardonnay for Louisa, and they'd spent the first half hour comfortably, dissecting Toni's failed relationship and Holly's inconstancy, both of which amused Libby greatly. When Louisa pointed out that there had been no new flower deliveries for two weeks, it appeared to both of them that, sadly, they'd seen the last of Giles. It seemed shallow to regret out loud that they'd have to pay for their own takeaways from now on but Libby had no hesitation in verbalising it, and Louisa had grimaced in discomfort at her admission, even though the same thought had actually crossed her mind.
When she returned with the next round, the soles of her boots squeaking on the sticky carpet as she made her way across the half empty room, she placed the fresh glasses carefully onto the beer mats and slid back into her seat.
"Now, where are you up to?" Libby asked tranquilly, tilting her head inquisitively and tucking her hair behind her ear. "Have you heard from you-know-who?"
"From Martin?" Louisa replied, realising even mentioning him still caused a faint lurch in her abdomen. "Umm, no, actually but, to be fair, he did say that it might take a while."
Libby frowned slightly. "When was lunch again?"
Louisa inhaled sharply.
"Four weeks last Thursday. If I'm counting, which I'm not."
"Right." Libby said with a knowing smile. "Are you okay about that?"
Louisa took a sip from her glass and stared back at her friend, eyebrows raised.
"I have to be, don't I? Besides, someone told me I had nothing to worry about, didn't they?"
Libby laughed.
"I did, didn't I? Well, if not just for the sake of my own reputation, I hope he comes through soon. I'd be happier heading away if I knew you were all loved up."
Louisa looked at her and frowned.
"Hang on, back up a minute, heading away?"
Libby gazed back at her, appearing unusually self-conscious. She unfolded a napkin and began to absentmindedly attempt to smooth out the creases.
"Yes, well, that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about, ummm, I've been thinking about getting away for a bit. Maybe heading overseas actually."
Louisa was taken aback.
"Oh right, for the holidays?"
"Well, no, a bit longer than that. I was actually thinking about putting uni on hold for a year, you know, deferring my studies and getting out of London for a while."
Louisa stared at her silently for a moment.
"Oh" she said forlornly. "And, umm, what does your dad think about that idea?"
Libby took a generous swallow of her drink and set the glass down thoughtfully. She paused momentarily as a group of middle-aged professional types passed close to their table, talking loudly.
"I haven't told him yet," She said after a moment. "But I'm going to approach it from the point of view that it's either take a year off or quit uni permanently. I'm just not feeling like anything I'm learning is setting me up for the sort of future I want. It's all just so..so..uninspiring."
She looked across at Louisa who was thoughtfully running her fingers up and down the stem of her glass.
"Don't you ever crave excitement, Louisa? Do you ever wish everything was just a bit less predictable and, well, dull. It's all so colourless, don't you think?"
Louisa sighed and shifted in her seat. The buttons of the upholstery were pinching her thigh, and she winced, fruitlessly attempting to shift the material of her skirt beneath her. What could she possibly say to Libby that might help her understand?
"To be honest, if you'd had the childhood I'd had, you probably be a lot keener on predictability. I've had enough uncertainty and risk to last me a lifetime."
Libby paused.
"I suppose so." She said slowly. "But there's another reason too. Ummm, I've met someone."
Louisa's head shot up and she stared at Libby with astonishment.
"What? Really? Who?"
"Shall we get another round in, or shall I tell you on the way home?"
Louisa glanced at her watch.
"Another round, I think." She said quickly, before adding with a sly smile "Especially since this one's yours."
After a few minutes, Libby returned with the drinks, a packet of peanuts and a sweaty barman in an orange shirt who obligingly cleared the empties away and wiped down the table with a vile looking piece of mutton cloth. She thanked him, and he winked at her before sauntering away, causing her to grimace in disgust, and roll her eyes at Libby as she sat down. In the corner, an older woman had fed the jukebox and the dulcet tones of Englebert Humperdink drifted across the room. Somewhere, someone was smoking a cigar and Louisa wrinkled her nose.
"So..." She asked encouragingly, "What's going on then?"
Libby took a deep breath and smiled nervously. It was the first time Louisa had ever really seen a crack in her composure and she was surprised.
"I met him a while ago, you know, had a great night as you do, but then he was off travelling so I didn't give it a second thought. On to the next, as they say. But, by a massive coincidence, I bumped into him again and, well, let's just say it went amazingly well. And, now, well he's, umm, he's going back to Sydney soon and he's asked me to go with him."
She looked up at Louisa and gave a self-conscious little grimace.
"Oh, wow, Libby, I don't know what to say. Other than I'm going to miss you, obviously!" Louisa cried, emphatically, her forehead wrinkling with concern. "Oh my god, it's the other side of the world!"
"Do you think I'm mad?" Libby said, laughing. "Of course you do, but I mean, at this point I'm only going for the summer, which is like their winter, but, you know, if it goes well, I might stay on. I don't know yet."
"Right." Louisa said, and for a moment she felt overwhelmingly sad. Sometimes it felt like everyone she ever cared about always seem to leave her behind. For a moment her eyes blurred with tears and she immediately reprimanded herself.
Libby looked at her in alarm.
"Are you crying?"
"Umm, yes, happy tears, Libby." She lied, feeling a dull ache in her chest but trying her best to smile convincingly at her friend regardless. "Umm, have I met him, this bloke?"
"No. We always went to his flat. For obvious reasons."
Louisa looked at her but, try as she might to feign excitement, all she felt was a tremendous sense of loss. It's only for the summer, she told herself, no different to last year, but it offered her no relief. She felt bereft.
Libby finished her drink and banged the glass down heavily on the beer mat. They'd walked the short distance home arm in arm. Louisa now knew his name was Matt. He was an independent film maker and part time model, and his father was an investment banker. They had a house on Sydney harbour, a villa in Tuscany, and went skiing in Whistler every winter. It was a world Louisa just couldn't imagine but Libby described it so matter-of-factly that it seemed quite normal. She was more overwhelmed by the circumstances of her serendipitous reunion with Matt. He had only dropped into London briefly on his way home from spending time in Italy with his dad and stepmother, so that he could attend the premiere of a friend's documentary, but the rest, as they say, is history. As Louisa bade her friend goodnight, she couldn't help but feel a sense of abandonment and, consequently, she slept rather poorly.
While Libby was clearly relieved to have her secret out in the open, the week dragged for Louisa. She sat her first two examinations and, while they went reasonably well, and she was glad to get two of her less preferred papers out of the way, she couldn't shake the lingering disappointment she felt about Libby's imminent departure. She spent most of the rest of the week in the library, and Saturday holed up in her room, every surface in the pokey space covered with study notes and sample exam papers. By Sunday, she felt like her head might explode so she and Libby headed to the markets for what what had become bit of a ritual. Toni insisted on tagging along and they spent several enjoyable hours poking around the various stalls, eating ice cream and crunching boiled sweets.
Afterwards, as they shared cod and chips in a pub adjacent to the market, Toni shouted them both a pint, to thank them for cleaning up the mess she'd made in the kitchen after her little contretemps with Holly. They lingered until the pub began to fill and then weary, footsore, and with their greasy meal weighing heavily upon them, they'd eventually made their way home just on dark. Once inside, Louisa had made a pot of tea and they'd all collapsed onto the couch, listening to the distant notes of Holly's cello as she relentlessly ran through her scales, loops and a few favourite pieces. Although Toni muttered under her breath and gave a few theatrical eye rolls, Louisa honestly didn't mind Holly's practice hour. She'd occasionally even recognise something that her more musically-minded flatmate played which made her feel ever so slightly pleased with herself.
Stretching out her legs in front of her, Louisa kicked off her boots and one flew dramatically across the room, bouncing once and rolling into the kitchen. Unperturbed, she found herself unwilling to rise from the relative comfort of the couch to retrieve it, telling herself she would pick it up later. After pointing out to her companions, with a smirk, that there was now a tripping hazard, she closed her eyes and leaned back, rubbing her bare feet backwards and forwards on the boldly coloured axminster carpet.
Though she'd been groaning and holding her stomach moments earlier, complaining of cramps and swearing she'd never drink beer again, Libby suddenly had a hankering for a biscuit and she hauled herself up out of the musty club lounge and wandered toward the kitchen. As far as she knew there was only half a packet of plain Digestives in the old tin, but they would be better than nothing. Not bothering with a plate, she was focussed on removing the rubber band that secured the open end of the packet when, suddenly the telephone rang, loudly and rudely disturbing the peace of their sleepy Sunday night.
As she was the closest, Libby sighed and, reaching out a long elegant arm, she answered.
Standing at the desk in his office, Martin had glanced down at the scrap of paper, and dialled, his face set in a deep frown of concentration. As he heard the click of the receiver, he lifted his chin and stared fixedly at the wall opposite.
The voice he heard was young and female but with an undoubtedly Home Counties accent.
"Hello." Libby said breathlessly.
"May I speak to Louisa?" He asked gravely.
There was a pause and, when he heard the girl speak again, her voice was lower.
"Oh right." She purred. "One moment please."
Libby put her hand over the mouthpiece and walked as far as the cord would allow, before hissing Louisa's name loudly and pointing animatedly at the receiver. Her eyes were wide and a gleeful smirk spread across her face. Momentarily, Louisa looked like a rabbit in the headlights before she composed herself and leapt to her feet.
He gets points for having a rather yummy voice, Libby thought to herself as she handed the receiver to Louisa and slipped casually around to the other side of the counter, folding her arms and observing her friend thoughtfully.
"Hello." Louisa said, and Libby immediately recognised anxiety in her voice.
"Louisa, Martin Ellingham." He replied briskly, in his most professional tone.
"Oh, hi Martin, how are you?" she said breathily.
As he spoke, he reached down with his finger to shift the watch case slightly to the left so that it was symmetrical with the corner of his desk.
"Umm, Louisa, I just wanted to let you know that I managed to complete the, ahhh, the repair to your watch."
He heard her take a sharp intake of breath and then she spoke, her delight clearly evident.
"Oh, wow, really? That's amazing! Thank you soooo much!"
He paused momentarily, as his courage began to fail him.
"Umm, so all that remains is for me to return it to you."
"Yes." Louisa replied and she suddenly felt a pang of disappointment, realising that she was unable to detect much enthusiasm in his voice. "What would be convenient for you?"
Libby leaned forward, her elbows on the counter top, and placed her chin in her hands, raising her eyebrows hopefully.
Martin took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I only have Sundays free...ummm, but perhaps we could meet somewhere. I mean, if that suits you..."
Louisa grinned at her friend, desperately suppressing a nervous giggle as a surge of excitement swelled in her chest. Looking back at Libby's impassive expression, she was reminded of the importance of maintaining her poise. No need to sound desperate or childish Louisa, she thought to herself, keep it together.
"Yes, that should be okay." She said in her most dignified tone. "Can you suggest anywhere?"
Libby watched with amusement as her friend scribbled an address down on the edge of the calendar, endeavouring to keep her composure despite looking as if she were the cat that got the cream; her face flushed and her eyes sparkling.
"Right, okay, yes." Louisa said, unable to look up now for fear she would burst.
"See you then." She'd added, as casually as her racing pulse allowed, and slowly replaced the receiver, swallowing hard in an effort to compose herself before she turned to look at Libby, who was giving the impression she was also about to explode. It was Libby who cracked first, letting out a strangled cry and throwing herself at Louisa, enveloping her in a bear hug, and jumping up and down on the spot, squealing with delight.
Later, after Toni had excused herself and gone to bed, experiencing a strange and unfamiliar jealousy that made her feel just the tiniest bit ashamed. She was used to feeling a little superior because she'd had obedient and devoted Giles to make her feel important and, if she were honest, she missed having him around, if only because she didn't like being single when even tragically unlucky Louisa seemed to now have an admirer.
After they'd watched Toni stomp crossly up the stairs, Libby had dissected Martin's call, analysing every segment of the conversation and providing her expert opinion. Of course there was no substitute for meeting him but it was inevitable it would happen at some stage, especially with the pub just around the corner. Looking at her sweet friends's enraptured face, she couldn't help but look forward to it.
"You two crazy kids," She'd said mischievously, as Louisa bade her goodnight. "I just think it's so sweet how you're both completely terrified of each other."
The following week turned out to be nothing short of hellish. While it was always going to be long and arduous, Tuesday and Wednesday's exams, which were supposed to be her two favourite subjects, turned out to be outrageously taxing, so much so that some students were in tears afterwards. Louisa emerged from the hall after each, stunned, and absolutely drained. She'd spent Thursday in the library but had been unable to secure a comfortable space. Worse still, she'd left an important folder of notes beside her bed, and she'd ended up having to share a table with some anxious and jittery student who had a persistent and aggravating post nasal drip. The constant sniffing and throat clearing had nearly driven Louisa around the bend and, by the time she alighted the bus at her stop, she could feel the discomfort in her tightly clenched jaw. Her bag was heavy with books and folders and it dragged on her neck so by the time she climbed into bed she was tired beyond belief and was experiencing a dull, nagging pain behind her eyes.
On Friday morning, her headache was worse but Louisa had no alternative but to grin and bear it. Her final exam was that afternoon and she had been spooked by the alarmingly difficult and perplexingly left field questions her earlier exams had sprung on her. She sat huddled on her bed, staring at her notes, as her temples throbbed, and willed herself, through sheer bloody mindedness, to wait for the bus in the rain and make it to the examination room in time. As she held her breath for the signal that she could begin, she felt a searing pain behind her eye as a sudden wave of nausea hit her. She struggled on as the pain increased and, by the time the instruction came that time was up, she was in the grip of a full blown migraine. She staggered home blindly, experiencing waves of pain that almost made her cry out and, after discovering with relief that she was the only one home, she collapsed into bed completely exhausted.
Saturday was almost a complete write off. The nausea came and went but the pain in her head was excruciating. She kept a pillow over her head for most of the day as the light, even in her gloomy room, was almost unbearable. Every noise made in the house, every footstep on the stairs, jolted through her head, threatening to set off another bout of nausea. It wasn't until much later in the afternoon that she began to feel the tiniest bit of improvement. She got up to go to the lavatory and, while her brain still felt as if it were hitting against the inside of her skull, she managed a quick search of the kitchen for something to eat but it was, as usual, depressingly bare. Instead, she made herself a cup of tea and, as she walked back to her room, she was stopped in her tracks by the sight of the phone, and instantly, she felt a pang of disappointment
It just didn't seem possible to meet with Martin when she felt so rotten, in fact the pain in her head at that moment meant she was almost beyond caring. It even seemed to hurt to think. But despite the debilitating sensation of imminent vomiting, and though she was desperate to crawl back into bed, a voice emerged from the depths of her thumping head that she must inform punctual, reliable, well-organised Martin of the change of plans. Inwardly she groaned and went off, gingerly, in search of his phone number.
The worst thing of all was that, if she told him she was ill, then undoubtedly, she'd have to endure another medical lecture. On reflection and especially in her current state, she knew that there was no way she could cope with it. Louisa wouldn't put it past him to ask about her diet, how many units of alcohol she consumed in a week and probably the line of questioning she feared the most, her menstrual cycle. And she knew that her answers would only provoke him to anger since she acknowledged that, this term especially, she'd been eating poorly, and drinking too much. And, there was absolutely no way on earth she was going to tell him that she was also experiencing nausea and discomfort from her decision, somewhat optimistically, to recommence taking The Pill.
She'd just be vague and suggest that they could try again next week. There was also another slight benefit in that she now realised that, by postponing, she perhaps would seem neither needy or desperate, which was sure to be a positive thing in Martin's eyes. When she dialled, and heard his answerphone click in, she felt somehow relieved. Though she grimaced at the tone of his greeting, she left her message, trying to sound cool but pleasant, despite the debilitating throbbing in her temples. Dragging herself back to her room, she slipped underneath the covers, and drifted off to sleep.
It was after eleven o'clock on Saturday night when Martin finally finished his shift and, before he could shower and slip gratefully into bed, he noticed the light flashing on his answerphone. He pressed the button and stood motionless.
"Martin, it's me, Louisa. Ummm, I know it's last minute but I don't think I can make it tomorrow. I'm really sorry. I'll call you back this week."
Martin stared at the machine as an excruciating realisation took his breath away. Of course, she'd thought better of it.
It was as inevitable as the night follows the day. What on earth was he thinking, imagining that such a vivacious young woman could find anything even remotely interesting or attractive about him? He heard that familiar mocking voice in his head, jeering at him for allowing himself the luxury of hope. Now that she'd had the chance to think about it, she'd got cold feet and that, you bloody idiot, was that.
He put his head in his hands and experienced the slow burn of humiliation. His head swam and, almost nauseous from the disappointment, he forced himself to endure its searing sting. He needed to remember how it felt. And, when his thoughts drifted back to her as he knew they would, he could remind himself of this moment, and do his utmost to force her from his conscious mind. How could he have been so stupid?
When he woke the next morning, the pain of the previous evening had been replaced with a cold, emptiness. Now, he was driven solely by the need to return Louisa's watch to her; to remove it from his sight as quickly as he could so that he could expunge all memory of her from his life. He wanted nothing of her that would remind him of a humiliation so acute that he had lain awake half of the night; miserable, defeated, and aware of a pain in his chest so severe that it hurt to breathe.
After he had showered and dressed, and taken his usual espresso, he sat, stiff and upright, on his sofa, staring at the Buddha who, unusually seemed dull and almost undetectable in the half light of the early morning. Taking several deep breaths, he walked over to the telephone, and dialled.
He heard who he presumed was the same girl at the other end of the line. He greeted her tersely, with no effort to hide the bitterness in his voice.
"Is that you Martin?" Libby said cautiously.
She'd just taken Louisa a cup of tea after discovering her, rifling desperately through the bathroom cupboard, her face grey and her eyes sunken, and was about to get her a cold flannel for her forehead.
"Umm, yes." He said coldly. "And you are?"
"I'm Louisa's flatmate, Libby. I'm..."
"If you could just let me know your address." Martin interrupted, his voice dripping with disdain. "I have something I need to send to Louisa via a courier."
Libby paused in confusion, and her mind was working feverishly. He must mean that he wanted to send the watch back, but why via a courier? Clearly something had gone horribly wrong because it was obvious that this Martin fellow was angry and impatient, and Louisa was twenty feet away, distressed and unwell.
"Umm, do you want to speak to her?" Libby asked hopefully.
"No." Martin barked. "Just the address."
"Right, well, ahh, 37 Graham Terrace, Belgravia."
"Postcode?" He demanded coldly.
Libby's heart began to race. She felt panicked, and desperate to get the situation under some sort of control but this Martin bloke was, quite frankly, terrifying. What could possibly have happened to provoke such an angry phone call?
"Martin, can you just listen please? Louisa's really unwell and I'm quite worried about her. I..."
"Take her to hospital then." Martin snarled and his voice was like ice. "Postcode!"
Libby was horrified. His cold-hearted lack of interest in her friend's well-being appalled her and it seemed especially callous, considering he was apparently a doctor. That kind, considerate, besotted Louisa should find her feelings treated with such contempt disgusted her and Libby's voice assumed its own glacial tone.
"I'm touched by your concern, Martin. But don't worry, if I can't manage to carry her to the bus stop by myself, I will call an ambulance." She said acidly, enunciating every syllable slowly and clearly, before pausing dramatically and spitting out the postcode. "SW1W 8JH"
When she was sure that he had heard her, she reached over and dropped the receiver angrily down onto the cradle of the phone. Her heart was thumping and her breathing rapid, but primarily all she could think was that Louisa had probably just had a very lucky escape. What an appalling, arrogant sod of a man, she thought angrily, and made her way upstairs furiously to get dressed.
Martin stood in his kitchen and felt the rush of adrenalin begin to ebb. He was concerned at how quickly and completely he had lost his temper but the girl had been so slow to supply him the information he'd asked her for. He'd tried to be reasonable but he wasn't in the least bit interested in her attempts of conversation and, at her suggestion that he might actually want to speak with Louisa, he'd felt suddenly very defensive and, as a result his anger had got the better of him. It was regrettable but there it was. Anyway, she was no concern of his now. God knows, he'd tried harder than he ever had before but, as usual, in the life of Martin Ellingham, it had only resulted in yet more anguish.
He took the tea-towel from the door of the cooker, refolded it and hung it back up, neatly and symmetrically, before opening the door to the refrigerator and peering aimlessly inside. He took the dishcloth from beneath the sink and wiped the immaculate table free of imaginary crumbs. As he rinsed the cloth under the tap, and wrung it out, he was aware of a growing sense of agitation. He paused momentarily by the window and gazed outside. The sun was shining, and it would have been the perfect afternoon for a walk. He had hoped to suggest it to her, after they'd had lunch. Perhaps even Wisley if she had no other plans. He felt a flash of grief again but, he barely had a moment to rationalise it before he was again overcome. This time though, it was a feeling of utter dismay as it dawned on him that, perhaps, Louisa was actually, honestly, ill. What if she had been genuinely too sick to meet him? If so, his own hurt and defensive reaction horrified him. He'd behaved like an absolute brute. It was unthinkable. But why in God's name hadn't she just told him she was ill? It simply didn't make sense.
Cursing his own idiocy, he ran to his office and snatched the sturdy little paper bag from his desk, slipping Louisa's address into his wallet and shoving his keys into his trouser pocket. Slamming the door behind him, he sprinted down the stairs and paused only to scan in both directions, desperately searching for a minicab. Within moments, he was in the back of a particularly vanilla-scented taxi, his parcel securely on his lap, impatiently drumming his fingers on the seat as they made their frustratingly slow and sedate way along Cromwell Rd toward Belgravia.
