Disclaimer: Doc Martin and recognisable storylines belong to Buffalo Pictures.

Initiative - Chapter 8

Louisa's stomach growled a little, and she remembered their conversation from the previous evening. He'd asked, "Have you eaten?" but she'd just had her tea and he was clearly embarrassed about their misunderstanding. It had ended fairly well, though...

'Maybe some other time?' she'd asked, hopefully.

'Some other time,' he'd said, agreeably.

Previous to this return trip, she might have thought they could have dinner together this evening. But now she just wasn't sure.

She thought of another bit of small talk to ease the tension.

"So, back to the grind tomorrow. There's never enough time on the weekends to do all the fun things in life."

He couldn't believe she'd just said that. She was the one who invited herself along.

"Well, I'm SORRY for taking up your time. You didn't have to come."

She couldn't believe he'd just said that. What was UP with him?

"I didn't mean this trip," she said, rather vaguely.

"Well, what DID you mean?" Martin could feel this conversation going wrong.

"I meant like, I don't know, reading a book," she answered. "You know, YOU could do with reading a book now and then."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, Martin, just read something, anything. Read The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway. You live near and serve fishermen. Read Any Human Heart. That's about a British man. Or The Quiet American by Graham Greene. He's a British writer. Read A Confederacy of Dunces, since you think everyone's a dunce.

"Read A Study in Scarlet, since you seem to have medical powers of deduction like Sherlock Holmes.

"Read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. That boy is brilliant like you, but he has autism spectrum disorder. The world is a bit much for him, but he perseveres.

"If you just want to live your life alone, read Walden or Robinson Crusoe. See how others found being alone.

"You need to think of something else besides work all the time." She sat back with her arms crossed, looking out her window.

He glanced at her and knew he didn't really want to be alone, and that he'd rather spend any spare time just thinking of her, but he took her words to heart. Somewhere in the course pack he'd read how works of fiction could increase emotional intelligence.

"Which one is your favourite?"

"What?!" she asked, somewhat incredulously. She had rattled off the titles, annoyed and impatient with him, certainly not expecting him to then want to converse with her about them.

"Which do you recommend? For me," he said, feeling vulnerable.

"Well, I haven't read them all." She thought for a minute. "The most recent one I read was The Curious Incident. As a teacher, I liked how it handled difference, about being an outsider. I've always liked Sherlock Holmes. He's the opposite of me. He notices everything. A Study in Scarlet is about Holmes and Watson meeting for the first time. I really like the new TV version, set in modern day instead of Victorian England."

Martin was now overwhelmed, but this was the second time she'd mentioned Sherlock.

"Okay, I'll read it. The scarlet one."

"A Study in Scarlet. Really?" He was full of surprises.

"Yes," he said, and they were back to silence.

- oo0oo –

Now Martin's stomach was growling. He had actually skipped lunch today in the transition from building an herb garden to fetching a clock. He thought about the previous evening when he'd asked Louisa if she'd eaten. He recalled being glad to put it off until another time as he still felt uncomfortable about misunderstanding her. But she had asked, 'Maybe some other time?' And he had agreed.

It just might be a way to get into her cottage to look for his notes.

Now, how to broach the subject. The last time he'd asked her, her father had shown up, and his invitation went unheard. He reasoned that even if she said no to him, it would not be for a second time. So, he decided to ask.

- oo0oo –

When they got to Portwenn, it was still some time before sunset. Shadows were only just beginning to form.

Martin pulled up outside Louisa's cottage, his nerves starting to hum at this point. He fairly launched out of the car to put himself between her and her front door.

As she exited the car, she looked at him.

"I was, um... would you like to have dinner with me?" he asked.

This man was such a contradiction! Dinner? Well, she was at sixes and sevens herself. The morning was nice, then Martin was abrupt about her not needing to help with the garden. Then they were off on a trip over Dartmoor, and he had been patient. She enjoyed the time in the clock shop, but he had gone cold as soon as they'd left. They'd even actually started arguing, but Martin had been the one to rectify that.

He frustratingly had not shown much initiative where their potential relationship was concerned, but she knew he was shy. Based on the latter, she could just make it easy on him and accept. So, she did.

"If you're sure, then yes, I'd like that. Feeling quite peckish, actually."

She reached next to him with her key and he moved over so she could unlock the door. He put his hand on the door to push it wide and was going to step in front of her, but his gentleman side stopped him. She entered and he closely followed, scanning the floor as he went.

Of course, he had to close the door, so had to look back a moment. A moment in which both he and Louisa spotted the sheet of paper on the floor. He moved towards it, which Louisa noticed, and then she made a move herself. He stopped next to her, staring in dismay at her foot. Which was purposefully set upon the paper.

"You have been acting quite odd today, Martin. Maybe more odd good than odd bad, but still. Does it have anything to do with this piece of paper?"

End of Chapter 8

Author's Note:

The list of books with their authors:

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

Any Human Heart by William Boyd

The Quiet American by Graham Greene

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole

A Study in Scarlet by Arthur Conan Doyle

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon

Walden by Henry David Thoreau

Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe