Chapter 2 - [1]
By Noon the reception room at the surgery was empty and Martin was looking forward to his daily break in the routine. He was surprised when his wife opened the side door after a quick knock and said:
"Ready for lunch?"
"You're here? Yes, I'm rather hungry in fact."
"Good. I warmed up the soup and tossed some salad. I bought some fresh bread too."
"Well, thank you Mrs. Ellingham," said Martin moving to the kitchen where the lunch was all laid out and ready to be consumed. Since they were alone he shyly added: "So… you missed me?"
Louisa smiled. "I like being with you, husband, you know that… but I wanted to talk to you about a child I met this morning, Jasmine Rowe."
Louisa then related Jasmine's tragic story, which would save the Rowes and Martin from a long conversation, and would put Martin on his best behavior, hopefully. Martin did not say much till the end and ate his lunch in silence. Finally he cleared his voice and commented: "This girl…Jasmine?"
"Yes, Jasmine."
"She might mean quite a lot of extra work at the school."
"I know" sighed Louisa, "but on the other hand this poor child needs to start socializing somewhere, and we are the safest place, social services are right about that. You should see her Martin… she may have been malnourished during her harrowing trip, you'll be the judge of that… but she is so skinny and jumps like a scared rabbit at anything. I have assigned Joanie as her guide around the school. I hope you don't mind."
Martin was silent for a few seconds. "That's fine as long as she cannot tell Joanie whatever it is she's been through, but if she starts telling later on… then no, Joanie does not need to be told details about war and dead people, or whatever else this poor girl has seen."
"Of course, Martin. For now though Joanie is doing a great job. She took Jasmine by the hand and showed her the school. Then Joanie drew pictures for Jasmine."
"Do keep an eye on anything this girl might draw as well, Louisa, I would alert all the teachers about it. She might come up with some pretty disturbing pictures which none of the children should see."
"Yes, I have alerted the entire staff already, don't tell me how to do my job Martin!" huffed Louisa.
"I did not! And you, are you not here to make me be on my best behavior with this girl? I'm not a child!" retorted Martin.
They stared at each other for a long moment, Louisa mentally counting to ten, and Martin breathing slowly in-out, in-out. They both let go, old lessons well learned by now.
"Sorry," they said at the same time.
Martin took Louisa's hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, and said: "You can trust me not to be rough with such a child as this Jasmine."
"I do, I know you empathize more easily with mistreated children than with anyone else. So, when could you see Jasmine?" asked Louisa. "She may be in need of medical attention, her grandparents are obviously concerned that she does not appear to be eating enough."
"I think I can probably see her late this afternoon. That soon enough?"
"Yes, that's perfect Martin, thank you. Jasmine can walk from school to the surgery with us and the Rowes will meet us here then," concluded Louisa.
They quickly put the few dirty dishes in the dishwasher and Louisa left with a quick parting kiss.
Chapter 2 - [2]
Upon her return to school Louisa found Beth Holmes chatting in the courtyard with a man sitting on a motorized wheelchair. Louisa had not seen Arthur Davis in several years. She was struck by his altered appearance, but tried not to show it when she said: "Arthur! The long lost London barrister is back home!"
"Yes, not for a good reason…" answered Arthur indicating his own crippled body with a jerky sweep of his hand.
Seeing Louisa wince at her own gaffe Beth intervened: "Arthur has had to retire, sadly," and from there they spent a few minutes catching up with each other, reminiscing a little and laughing about when they were children together. Then Beth said: "Louisa, you know Arthur is a commercial law specialist, right? I was talking to Arthur the other day about the King's Mart hypermarket plan…"
"Where exactly do they want to build it?" asked Arthur. "It's a bit vague, I'd like to see it on a map."
"Oh, just off the coastal path at the very edge of the village, we have a map in my office," said Louisa shaking her head. "Huge building and car-park, a lot more people driving in that area than ever before… the whole set up would wreak havoc on Portwenn's image as the center of a pristine area, and drive every small retailer in the village out of business altogether."
"That's exactly what I was telling Arthur. But he thinks our "No King's Mart in Portwenn" committee is not doing as good a job as it should."
"I would say it is positively amateurish," said Arthur bluntly. "The committee needs a website. It must disseminate information in a variety of ways both digital and on paper, circulate a petition against the hypermarket, participate with large numbers of concerned citizens at the Parish Council meeting, and also seek direct representation of its views by actively enlisting the support of as many councilors as possible. Beth has described to me a lot of grumbling in town about the King's Mart plan, but very little concerted action to stop it. It is not too late. The Council will vote on the King's Mart plan in several weeks. It's a short time to get better organized, but enough. And that's the only way to stop them, we must have Parish Council reject the plan."
Louisa smiled at Arthur after this speech. Arthur smiled back. His body was crumpled in his chair and he had obviously lost any muscle tone he'd had in the past. But despite being so scrunched in the wheelchair it was obvious he had been really handsome once, his lineaments regular and masculine, laugh lines around his mouth and eyes that once had given him rugged good looks. She felt so sorry for him, what a slap life had reserved for him.
"So Arthur, you are going to help us then?" asked Louisa. "Beth and I have family and jobs, and we have not been able to organize very well as a consequence. If you have time…"
A bitter laugh from Arthur: "Yes, plenty of time, nothing else to do in fact."
"…then be our guide, tell us what to do. I'm thinking Al Large could help with the website, he's good with computers… Morwenna could print things... and…"
"And we need a smart, energetic spokesperson with a hot temper to set a fire under all the Parish Councilors' bums. Guess who I have in mind?"
"No, who?" asked Louisa naively.
"Well you Louisa, of course."
"Me?"
"Of course you. Beth suggested it, and she's absolutely right. Can you think of anyone in this town who is more passionate and eloquent about maintaining a viable community and economy in Portwenn without spoiling the natural beauty of the area?"
Louisa was silent: modesty aside no, she could not think of anyone, she was the usual go-to person whenever anything of community import needed to be accomplished. She had never served as Parish Councilor simply because her job and her family kept her too busy, but her interest in community affairs was very keen.
"See my point?" said Arthur.
"Yes, but what about you Arthur, Portwenn-born London barrister and all that?"
"Some days are quite good for me Louisa, like today, but then there are others when I'm weak, my speech is slurred, and I do not have enough energy. I'll be at your side whenever I am strong enough, rest assured, but do be prepared for times when I won't be."
"We may have a problem though," said Louisa, "and he's six foot three."
Arthur laughed, understanding her meaning immediately.
"I met the fierce Doctor Ellingham this morning," said Arthur with some sparkle in his eye and a lingering smile.
"Oh, Martin is very short tempered, but he'll do right by you medically, I'm sure," said Louisa.
"No, he was just fine, called a spade a spade, and that's what I like."
"Then you'll be a patient to his liking, there's no getting Martin to embellish on any medical detail. Or anything else… But I have not been able to convince him that the King's Mart plan is a calamity for Portwenn. Martin… he can be as stubborn as a mule sometimes."
"Being a London barrister and all that, as you put it," said Arthur "means that on a good day I'll be able to keep my own in a debate with Martin or just about anyone else, Louisa, and no false modesty there. I was good at what I did. But even if we cannot persuade Martin to come on board… no harm done. He is entitled to his opinions."
"No, you don't understand Arthur. It's just that he'll be stoically silent, with big sad eyes about it for several weeks. Once I tell him what we are up to he'll say "Fine!" and pretend he does not see me working at it, so he won't have to comment on it. He'll build a neat little wall all around the King's Mart issue if I know him, right when I'm all on fire about it. That's likely to make me be furious with him… if I know myself. Not good Arthur, not good at all. I really don't want to create a difficult situation with Martin."
Arthur looked at her with a very intent and puzzled stare. Beth came to his rescue: "Martin and Louisa are great together, really, but they have very different… opinions at times."
"Obviously they can work around those different opinions… I wish my wife and I could have done as much in our marriage…" said Arthur sadly. "Louisa… the King's Mart plan should not come between you and your husband. But you can try to talk to him and maybe he will accept your role in this."
"Well, I can try, but if he shuts up on me about it, then it's a bad sign. I'd almost prefer opposition than that wall of his quite frankly… Arthur… I may decide not to be our main spokesperson in the end, so we do have to think of a substitute in that case. Fair enough?"
"Absolutely," replied Arthur with a sly smile, "and I look forward to that discussion with the fierce doc, ought to refine our arguments, don't you think?"
Chapter 2 - [3]
At the end of the school day Louisa, James and Joanie stood on the school's doorstep, ready to go, waiting for Jasmine to go with them. They were not able to make her understand that she was going to walk with them to the surgery. Joanie offered her hand, and Jasmine took it, but the older girl's feet would not budge.
"Oh, what to do without a translator now? Maybe I should call Mr. and Mrs. Rowe to come to school instead of meeting us at the surgery," said Louisa.
"A translator!" said James with a sparkle of recognition in his eye. "Mum, may I borrow your mobile?"
"Ah, James! How can I trust you with my mobile? It took you a week last time to shift it back from Arabic to English!"
"Mum! Arabic, exactly that. Doesn't Jasmine speak… and hopefully read Arabic?"
"I think so. Not a good reason to shift my mobile back to that though!"
"No mum. The translation app, that's what."
"What?"
"When I got your mobile stuck in Arabic Al helped me put it back into English with a translation app. You write words in English, and the computer or mobile translates. Al showed me."
"I see… But James… If my mobile is not set in English when you are done, you will be in such trouble you have no idea young man!"
"Don't worry mum, the app won't change your mobile language, promise. Can I have it?"
Rather reluctantly Louisa passed her smartphone to James who quickly found a popular translation application which Louisa had no idea was already installed, "together with another hundred "apps" that do who knows what," she thought.
"See mum, it's just an app. You write what you want to say in this white square and it comes back translated in the green square. You just have to choose the language." James put the tip of his finger on Arabic.
"OK…" said Louisa dubiously, but she typed: "Your grandparents are coming to our house," and… a sentence written in Arabic appeared in the green square. Magic, thought Louisa. Of course, thought James.
Louisa showed the screen to Jasmine who stared at it for a little while, then nodded, not to Louisa but to Joanie who was still holding her hand, and Jasmine's feet finally came unglued from the school's doorstep so they could all walk towards the surgery.
"You have to show me how to do that again James."
"Mum, you just need to remember what the app icon looks like. It's a green and white circle with a T on it. Now it is set for Arabic so all you do is put your finger on it and it opens up. Once you've found the icon."
"That's the point James, where do I find this icon?"
"MUM! Together with the other apps!"
"I know James, I know, but where are they? I have no idea. Good thing I have you to teach me though."
James shook his head and said: "I love you mum, but you're so, so hopeless with your mobile! I'll put the T icon on your main screen so you can use it with Jasmine. OK?"
"Excellent, thank you James. I'm sorry you have such a technological blockhead for a mum."
"That's OK mum, nobody can be good at everything," said James with an odd old man's wisdom about him.
They arrived home quickly and the kids went straight to the kitchen to make tea with their mother. Jasmine's grandparents had not yet arrived. Joanie pulled Jasmine by the hand into the kitchen, where Jasmine then stood straight in a corner not knowing what to do.
Louisa used her mobile again. She typed: "Would you like some tea?" and showed it to Jasmine who again turned to Joanie and gave the little girl a nod. Joanie then pulled a chair close to hers and patted it looking at Jasmine who understood this hand language immediately and sat down, very close to Joanie.
Not long after they had all gathered around the table with their tea, Martin came in from the consulting room.
"Hello," he said.
"DADDDYYY!" yelled Joanie in her usual enthusiastic greeting of her beloved father. He came closer and caressed his daughter's hair, but in so doing unavoidably loomed over Jasmine who shrank and seemed to tremble once presented with this very large stranger.
"He's fine," said Joanie, "he's my daddy!"
James quickly grabbed Louisa's mobile that was on the table and wrote: "This is our father, he is the doctor," and showed the translation to Jasmine.
Jasmine looked, nodded to James this time and seemed marginally less scared.
Martin had quickly moved away from the two girls, closer to James.
"Are you translating with mum's smartphone James?" asked Martin.
"Yes, Jasmine does not know ANY English."
"Mmm… good thinking James, I was just wondering how to communicate with Jasmine when her grandparents arrive, so that's what we'll do. If I can get anywhere near her."
"Maybe she'll get used to you a bit before Mr. and Mrs. Rowe arrive," said Louisa.
Martin had a skeptical look, but sat down, well away from Jasmine, and poured himself a cup of tea.
"She has hardly touched any food today," Louisa informed Martin, "she ate only some bread."
Martin took a good look at Jasmine who was now staring at her cup. She appeared emaciated, unsurprisingly. He would have to draw some blood and check for any possible consequences of malnutrition. He shook his head slightly, saddened again by the plight of this poor girl.
Joanie then spontaneously left her seat and climbed onto her father's lap from where she reached up, wrapped her little arms around his neck and planted a big and somewhat slobbery kiss on his cheek, which Martin requited with one of his own on the little girl's head and a quick hug.
Jasmine watched in fascination this small father-daughter scene, big round eyes fixed on them in wonder, then quickly clouded by a sudden, stricken look. She lowered her eyes, but could not avoid a tear that rolled down the side of her face. Joanie didn't know that her spontaneous burst of affection for her big daddy had achieved two important goals in the space of a minute. First, Jasmine felt she could trust Martin as the love for Joanie she read in his eyes and his body language spoke volumes to her; second, she allowed herself to remember her own mother's loving embrace, if for a brief second. It was a first chink in the protective wall she had built around herself.
Mr. and Mrs. Rowe arrived then, and Morwenna brought them to the kitchen. When Mrs. Rowe entered Jasmine looked up and nodded, got up and went to stand next to her grandmother.
"Shall we go to the consulting room?" asked Martin.
"Sure doc," said Mrs. Rowe taking her granddaughter's hand. Jasmine immediately stretched out her other hand towards Joanie with a pleading look.
"Daddy, Jasmine wants me to come."
"Joanie, you cannot be present at patients' visits."
"Oh doc," said Mrs. Rowe "if you're worried about privacy… forget that. Whatever makes Jasmine feel safer is fine with us."
Martin had doubts but said: "Fine for now, but there may well be some parts of this conversation that are not for a seven year old girl's ears."
"Sure," whispered the grandmother, and they went into the consulting room.
"So Mrs. Rowe," asked Martin when everyone had taken a seat, "Jasmine has been in your custody for about a week. How has she been?"
"Ah doc, not so well. She accepted us right away as her grandparents. She saw pictures of her father, our Jonathan, with us and I guess she was well taught to respect and trust family and her elders. But she has nightmares, eats little, throws up sometimes, and stays by me all the time, I can barely go to the loo. Or she spends time with our sheep, she really loves them. As people go, Joanie here is the only one so far who has been able to take my place."
"What has she been eating?"
"We cook the usual, chicken, lamb, fish, potatoes, veggies, eggs. All simple," answered Mrs. Rowe, "she likes bread and eats a few bites. She must be used to very different food, I'm not sure."
"Well, we'll see how she is with a blood test and urine analysis, those results will tell us a lot."
Martin typed something on his computer then turned the screen around: there it was, English and Arabic translation: "Are you afraid of needles?"
Jasmine stared at the screen and then looked at Joanie with a pleading look. Joanie looked back and then said: "Daddy, maybe she could write an answer?"
"Yes." Martin clicked the symbol that inverted the two languages and pushed the laptop towards Jasmine. She looked at the keyboard and shook her head with a sad look.
"Maybe she cannot write, daddy."
"Oh, of course!" exclaimed Martin, "she needs an Arabic keyboard."
Martin worked on the computer for a little while and then turned the laptop again towards Jasmine. Now there were two large boxes, and an onscreen keyboard with Arabic symbols. The box on top said again: "Are you afraid of needles?" and a translation appeared in the second box. Martin indicated the screen and hovered with a finger over the onscreen keyboard. Joanie went a step further and put her finger right on an Arabic character, because it looked strange and pretty to her, and then squealed when it appeared typed in the Arabic box. Jasmine then understood and put her finger on some other on-screen symbols. The English translation appeared: "What needles?" Martin almost jumped for joy and wrote: "I need to draw some blood. It does not hurt much." Arabic appeared. "Can your daughter hold my hand?" "Yes."
With this method Martin was able to draw some blood and to get a urine sample as well. Martin was really gentle with Jasmine, not wanting to hurt her in any way. Mr. and Mrs. Rowe looked at each other, astonished: without his usual scowl the doc seemed like another man altogether, and they didn't know what to make of him.
Jasmine's lungs sounded normal though Martin listened to them through her shirt, as he thought best not to ask her to remove too many clothes, especially not the scarf around her hair and neck. Then he wrote: "You must eat more."
"My stomach is sick, I cannot eat much."
"Don't you like the food your grandparents give you?"
"It's good, but my stomach is sick."
"What do you feel?"
"Vomit."
"Mmm… she may have a stomach virus, or a bacterial infection," said Martin, "sanitation must have been ghastly at those refugee camps. We'll need a stool sample as well."
They used the computer again to explain what a stool sample was. Joanie had a very difficult time not to giggle, while Jasmine did not seem happy about it at all, but eventually wrote she would do it. When it was time to leave, Jasmine hugged Joanie tight. Joanie reached up and kissed Jasmine on the cheek. Martin did not quite see a smile on Jasmine's lips, but almost he thought. When the Rowe family was gone Martin picked up his daughter and told her:
"Well done Joanie, I don't know that we could have done as much without you."
"No daddy. It was your good manners."
"MY good manners?!"
"Yes daddy, you were very nice to Jasmine. Thank you, she's my friend. You didn't yell at her not even once. Mum says good manners are important."
"Thank you Joanie. Nobody ever praised me for my good manners before." He felt rather proud of himself, though he would never admit that to anyone.
Later at dinner Louisa asked Joanie details about what she had done with Jasmine at school.
"Well, Jasmine sat next to me and I tried to teach her words."
"How did you do that?" asked Louisa.
"I showed her pictures in the books and told her the names of things. I think she learned some."
"Really? How can you even tell?" exclaimed James. "She does not say anything at all."
"No, but I asked her to show me a man and she showed me a man, and to show me sheep and she showed me sheep."
"But how did you ask her?" inquired James, curious as ever.
"I said "man?" like this, raising my eyebrows a lot like this… 'cause that's how the teachers ask questions. And Jasmine pointed at the picture of the man in the book."
"Well done Joanie!" said Louisa with a big smile. "Smart girl! Between your brother teaching me translation with the mobile, and you teaching Jasmine some words I think we'll be able to communicate with Jasmine. That's a relief. I know I'm not supposed to ask, and I do not need any details Martin, but is she well?"
"Too soon to tell, but we are doing lab work to find out, as ever."
"Daddy had very good manners with Jasmine mum," said Joanie smiling.
Martin was contemplating his plate, but raised his eyes to look dubiously at Louisa who looked back and smiled at him. "Your father can be really sweet children, even if we are the only three people in the world who know that."
"Mum!" exclaimed James in indignation, "Dad has to be a man, M.A.N., man! He can't go 'round being all sweet with all the villagers now, can he? They wouldn't do what he says! Dad, your secret is safe with me."
Martin shifted his gaze to James and said very seriously: "Thank you James."
Louisa looked at both her men alternatively and shook her head at them: "I'll leave this masculine conspiracy to you two then. But I'm glad dad was very nice to Jasmine, though I had no doubt he would be."
Chapter 2 - [4]
After their quiet dinner, just as Martin was to read to the children, the surgery phone started ringing insistently. Martin cursed inwardly, came down the stairs, grabbed the receiver and boomed, very irritated: "Ellingham!"
"Doc! Bert Large."
"Is this a medical emergency?"
"Yes, you'd better get over here quickly, to the pub… fisticuffs, one bloke is unconscious… there's blood too…"
"I'll be right there."
Martin hung up and perceived that Louisa was behind him.
"Some idiots at the pub punched each other, one seems seriously injured," he told her while grabbing his bag. "The children… you'll need to read to them… and say goodnight to them for me please."
"Of course," replied Louisa and sent him off after patting his back affectionately as he rushed out.
Martin ran down the hill and to the pub quickly. This could be nothing, or a serious trauma to the head, better get there as fast as possible. When he entered the pub he found the publican cleaning up a messy scene, Joe Penhale protesting that evidence was being removed, some people looking on from a group at the back of the pub, one man slumped on a chair holding a bloody rug, and the one he was looking for on the ground, Bert hovering near.
"He is breathing doc, but we cannot wake him," said Bert.
Martin knelt down near the man, whom he recognized as a local fisherman. There was blood at the side of his head. That did not look like the result of a punch. Martin felt his stomach churn at the sight and smell of blood. He controlled himself, but was surprised, that hadn't happened to him in quite some time. Whenever he had haemophobia symptoms it meant something down deep was bothering him, more often than not something he was not conscious of. "What now?" he thought, worried, but quickly turned his attention again to his patient.
"Bert, how did he injure his head?" asked Martin.
"He was rather tipsy and he lost his legs when he punched the other bloke. He fell hard with his head hitting the corner of the table. Then he rolled to his back."
Martin worked on the man till he got him to babble back a few incoherent sounds. Martin took the vital signs and concluded:
"We do need an ambulance here. Penhale!"
"Doc?"
"Call the ambulance."
"Right away doc!"
"Is it serious?" asked Bert.
"This might be more the liquor than the bump to his head," answered Martin. "The wound is not deep, despite the blood, but the internal damage is impossible to assess without scans, and without being able to ask him any questions. How much had he drunk?"
"A lot!" said the publican. "And he owes me."
"Well, he's breathing normally on his own…" concluded Martin, "I think it's mostly the alcohol here, he'll be hung-over, with a big lump on his head, and a concussion perhaps, but they'll have to scan his head at the hospital. I'll wait till the ambulance arrives. Let's see the other idiot then."
Martin turned to the man holding the bloody rag to his nose. He again had to control a queasy feeling.
"Take off that filthy rag! Let me see." Martin inspected the man's nose, with a considerable amount of wincing from the injured party.
"Not broken," sentenced Martin, "it will swell up some more, but press this clean gauze, the bleeding should stop soon. Your nose should get back to normal in a few days." Then Martin tested the man for signs of concussion and found none. It was then that Martin remembered that this man with the bloody nose was the new owner of the dry cleaning business in town. He did not seem the type to get involved in a pub brawl.
"Now, two grown men… was it really necessary to punch each other?" asked Martin.
"Sorry doc. It was to protect the lady from the drunken fisherman."
"What lady?"
"Here, Doctor Ellingham," said a cool voice from behind the crowd. Then she stepped forward. It was Nigella Williams.
"Ah, you," said Martin, not at all pleased to see her.
"The fisherman expressed his interest in the lady in a rather coarse manner," explained the man with the bloody nose, "and I tried to restrain him… he hit me and fell in the process."
"Do you want to press charges?" asked Penhale eagerly.
"Nah," replied the dry-cleaning business owner, "lot of paperwork for nothing, he got the worst of it anyway."
A disappointed Penhale then addressed Ms. Williams: "And you, madam?"
"No, he was just drunk. Forget it constable." Then she turned to the doc. Martin said mechanically: "How's the knee?"
"Still hurts."
"To be expected. It should start improving soon though."
"Can I offer you a drink Doctor Ellingham, while you wait for the ambulance?"
"I don't drink."
"At all?"
"At all," he replied curtly. Ms. Williams wondered how it was that the tall, elegant doctor with the brooding looks had such power to rivet her attention. And what an odd fish out of water, she thought. He definitely tickled her fancy.
"Well, a non-alcoholic beverage then?"
Martin was thirsty so he said: "Just a glass of water."
Ms. Williams then turned to the publican and ordered water for the doc and sherry for herself.
She went to sit close to where Martin was standing and indicated the chair across from her. Since there was no sense standing around for the next few minutes till the arrival of the ambulance, Martin sat down, hoping he was not expected to make conversation. Vain hope, that.
"So Doctor Ellingham, are nights at the pub here always so… colorful?"
"I wouldn't know, I do not frequent the pub."
"I have just hired the use of this pub, and obtained a permit for the use of the grounds outside, for a village meeting about the construction of the King's Mart hypermarket. It appears some of the locals need persuasion."
As Martin did not reply, sipping on his water, Ms. Williams added: "Are you opposed to the hypermarket, doctor?"
"Not particularly. It seems to be the way of retail sales these days."
"Of course. Convenient one-stop shopping, that's what we are all about. So would a citizen as prominent as the local doctor speak in favor of the hypermarket then? We could use local support to help persuade contrary villagers."
"Absolutely not."
"Why not? You just said you don't oppose…"
"Or particularly support the hypermarket. I will not make any public speeches about it, for or against," said Martin decisively.
Ms. Williams gave him a long look and an ironic smile.
"I see, not rocking the boat with the wife… understandable."
"Please leave my wife out of this," said Martin very irritated. Why did this woman need all this chit-chat?
Ms. Williams, not knowing Martin at all, and because she could not imagine that this mundane conversation could irritate anyone in the least, interpreted Martin's obvious annoyance as directed at his wife. That explained his attitude, she concluded, as a happy man generally does not wear such a scowl. She felt encouraged.
"Doctor… you seem upset… Anything I can do to help?" she asked with one of her coquettish smiles.
"What?" said Martin, "no, I'm fine."
What to make of this reserve? Ms. Williams started to think of another line of attack.
"How long have you lived here doctor?"
"About a dozen years," he answered reluctantly.
"It does not appear as though you blend in so well… you do stick out, if you don't mind my saying so."
"I did not grow up here, so I'm not quite the villager, am I?" replied Martin irritated by these questions.
"Yes, I can see how it would be difficult for a professional London man, a renowned vascular surgeon, to blend into such a tiny village… The local educational level does not seem so good…"
Martin was staring at her now, with a mix of surprise and dismay on his face.
"Who told you about me? The gossip in this village!"
"No gossip actually. Who needs gossip when there's google?"
"Google?"
"Of course. Ever googled yourself Doctor Ellingham?"
"No."
"You should, though if you are going to look at all the entries it will take you a very long time."
"So how did you have the time to google me then?"
"I didn't, I have… minions, you know," she said with an ironic and slightly wicked smile. "I asked my secretary to google you and send me a report on the double, salient points and such."
"And she did it all in a few hours, your secretary?"
"He. He is very efficient. He could not work for me if he weren't. So, because he's so efficient I read a report about you over dinner, and now I know… well, everything that's in the public domain."
Martin was stunned.
"But why on Earth did you want to know about me?"
"Because you do stick out, and I make it my business to find allies in difficult areas such as this tiny village. They seem not unlike that comic book village of Gauls, standing alone undefeated by the Roman Empire... Asterix? Magic potion?"
Martin had no idea what Gauls or potions she was talking about, but he did notice the "they seem" as opposed to "you seem," by which she had excluded him from the village.
"I don't know what Gauls you mean, though of course they are of Celtic descent in these parts, and they definitely don't like outsiders," replied Martin, "…you will not make many friends here." Martin, knowing the woman was up against much of the village, felt a bit sorry for her. Isolated as she was, she did remind him of his start here, before Louisa, and how dreadfully alone he had been.
"Well," replied Ms. Williams rather archly, however, "I'm not planning to move here, so no harm done. I just need to convince people that we are bringing a great, convenient place to shop, and offering jobs. Then off I go happily back to London."
Martin looked at her for a moment and then lowered his eyes, struck by the thought that once he might have envied this woman. But not now. His family was the core of his existence now, so moving back to London had stopped occurring to him as an option a long time ago. He was sure though that that did not make him a villager…
Ms. Williams interpreted Martin's meditative expression, however, precisely as a longing for being elsewhere, as if he were dreaming himself back in London as well. She was seeking to link up with the man, and saw hooks where they did not exist.
At that moment they saw Bert Large ambling his way towards them and, though Martin was never eager to converse with Bert, this time he thought maybe Bert would get this platinum blonde talking machine off his back.
"I did not mean to eavesdrop, but we were pretty close… "said Bert. "The doc here doesn't even know it, or won't admit it, but… though he's really different from us, you could say he is… almost one of us by now. He'll never learn to go with the flow, but… over the years he's helped more people in the village than anyone I know, so… how do you say it? Honorary citizen? That's what he is."
Martin looked very perplexed by this speech, and Ms. Williams said: "Only Portwenn is not a country that can bestow honorary citizenships, Mr…?"
"Bert Large, miss, of Large Cornish Whiskey."
"Ah, indeed? Well Mr. Large, glad to meet you," said Ms. Williams immediately shifting to business mode. "Once the King's Mart hypermarket has received the go ahead from Parish Council we will contact you about ordering Large Cornish Whiskey for the local products booth."
"Thank you miss, but… Large Cornish Whiskey is not a hypermarket product. It is produced in relatively small quantities, for connoisseurs," Bert explained kissing his bunched fingertips, "we have a niche market that does very well. We could not possibly mass-produce to sell in supermarkets. Won't do, oh no… Though if you want to order a case for your personal use, I can always take an order, miss."
"I see… Are all the local businessmen going to be this hostile, Mr. Large?" asked Ms. Williams raising one of her very pretty eyebrows.
"I couldn't be sure, but… yes, very likely."
"And so there is no way we can have your vote in Parish Council, Mr. Large? Any enticement we could offer? We would really like to do business with Large Cornish Whiskey in one way or another."
"See miss, here in Portwenn… we don't like to be bought by you big London… London… never mind, miss, and… ah, I hear the ambulance," Bert concluded gladly escaping from the verbal trouble he had created for himself. Penhale arrived to confirm: "Ambulance is here doc. We did it again, hey, the dynamic duo!"
"What?" asked Ms. Williams very surprised, putting her hand on Martin's sleeve. "Doctor, you sing?"
"Of course not!" huffed Martin. He shrugged her off and stepped outside immediately. Penhale, as ever, was left behind with a disconsolate air about him, then Ms. Williams asked: "What sort of duo did you mean then?"
"Oh, keeping the village safe and sound, the doc and I, that's what we do," boasted Penhale with an air of self-importance. Bert shook his head and said: "Joe… when will you ever admit that to yourself? The doc is not interested in your… duo. He's not the chummy type, you should have figured that out by now."
"I'll have you know, the doc and I are rather good friends," said Joe to Bert with an offended air about him. Ms. Williams gave him a very skeptical look, while Bert chuckled and said: "Let's just say that you and I, and Al, and quite a few other people are the doc's friends, but he's never going to see us that way. Not his way. Though some part of him knows it, I think."
Penhale was saddened by this speech, and shook his head, like a child robbed of his favorite toy.
"No," he said, "the doc will see it at some point, he will."
Ms. Williams, who had listened to this conversation with interest, became ever more convinced that Martin was not happy in this community. He might indeed welcome a diversion. She went outside and saw Martin giving instructions in his usual commanding tone, which only whetted Ms. Williams' appetite even more.
When Martin was clearly ready to leave Ms. Williams followed him a couple of steps: "Doctor Ellingham? I meant it earlier, you do seem to need… someone to talk to perhaps?"
And she put a hand on his sleeve again, with a concerned look.
Having lost any patience he'd had in store that night, and really wanting his home now, Martin said rather harshly: "I'm fine Cruella, goodnight," and he went off at a brisk pace hoping very much she would not follow. She did not. She stood there with a little smile thinking: "Cruella again, ah, you naughty man…"
On the pub threshold there stood Bert, watching this brief scene, catching Ms. Williams trying to catch the doc. He shook his head and thought Ms. Williams had no chance with the doc, and no chance to make any friends in the village either. Strange to remember that when he had first moved to Portwenn the doc had been just as much an alien in the village as Ms. Williams now. It was true though, what Bert had said to Ms. Williams, the doc really was like a sort of alien hero who had saved so many lives locally that he had in effect been made into an honorary citizen. Still alien, but accepted and appreciated nonetheless, whether he knew it or not.
This train of thought brought Bert back to his personal musings of late: even the doc seemed to have a clearer place in Portwenn now than he did. Bert, though a native, did not know how to belong to the village anymore. When he had been poor, struggling every day to feed Al and himself, to keep their business going, full of debts, having to make do on the basis of half lies and little tricks… back then he had had no time or cause to ask himself about his place in the village. Now that he was successful though, now that he had some real money, and was a Parish Councilor… was he still the same old Bert? With no fight to fight, what was he? What could he look forward to? What was his place in the village now? He did not know, and asked himself for the hundredth time whether he still belonged, and how. Bert shook his head and mumbled to himself, much perplexed.
The Platt was empty, the pub was closing, and Bert heard the publican say: "Got to shut the door Bert."
"Yeah, I'm going home."
"Bert… you reckon the London lady has got the hots for the doc?"
"Looks like it, doesn't it?" said Bert. They looked at each other and burst out laughing at the thought of the doc pursued by Ms. Williams.
Bert said his goodnight and started slowly walking home, not having forgotten his own predicament, but definitely more amused.