Chapter 13 - Apology

Louisa poured herself a glass of white wine after unpacking her packages from her afternoon shopping trip. As she took out each piece of apparel, she felt happy. She was pleased that these would coordinate well with the outfits she had already. There was really nothing more to be done. All her travel documents were in order - passport, tickets, the letter from Mr. Siebert, the principal of the Millersville schools, welcoming her to his community for the summer. The letter also informed Louisa that he would there to meet her when her flight from London arrived at O'Hare Airport in Chicago.

Tomorrow her journey would begin with a train ride to London where she would stay overnight in her favorite hotel. And the day after tomorrow she would be on her way to Chicago, Illinois, USA.

It was time to confirm her ride to the train station tomorrow, and for that she had to call Martin. She took a sip of wine. She had waited for a call from him after they had parted with upset feelings because she had joked about his gift of a laxative. How she wished they could relive those few minutes from yesterday. She would be careful what she said, not giving in to the spontaneity of the moment as she had before. When she was teased by her friends in Wadebridge today, she had gotten a glimpse of how he must have felt when she had laughed.

Louisa called Martin on her cell phone, determined to offer some sort of apology and hoping it would sound okay, whatever came out. She had not been able to compose her thoughts in this regard during the day. Even now she was afraid that a lingering annoyance with her friends would get in the way of any soothing thoughts.

Martin's phone went unanswered. She hung up but wondered if she should call again and stumble out some sort of message to him. No, she'd wait until she saw some light in his windows and walk over to talk with him in person.

Sometime later, Martin heard a knock at his back door. He opened it and there stood Louisa.

"Oh Martin," she quickly spouted out, "I didn't hear from you last night or today and I want to confirm our times for tomorrow."

"Louisa, I am to pick you up at 9:15 a.m. and drive you to the Bodmin train station. I assume nothing has changed those arrangements."

"No, that's right. I mean, Yes, yes, that's correct."

Martin cocked his head as he looked at Louisa and his voice became softer.

"Louisa, are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, Martin, why?"

"You seem a bit ... a bit ... Are you ready to go? All packed?"

Louisa nodded her head, "Yes, I am. Nothing to do after some shopping today."

"That's good. But why are you here? You look tired. Perhaps you should have gone to bed early instead of walking over here and wearing yourself out."

"Yes, I haven't been sleeping the best. Too excited, I suppose. But Martin, I needed to tell you I am so sorry about what happened the other night. That's been bothering me. I wanted our evening together to be special since we won't be seeing each other for a while. I shouldn't have laughed at your gift."

"Louisa, I've put that out of my mind. No need to apologize."

"That's good to hear ... I think. Well, I'll just go then."

"Louisa, I'll give you a ride home, but first I think you should have a glass of water."

He moved to the cupboard to get two glasses and Louisa walked to the table where she saw an array of small tools laid alongside a small, but very elaborate clock lying on red fabric.

"Oh, Martin. You've got a clock. Did you fix it ... or something?" Louisa touched the fluted edges on the top of the clock gingerly. "It's beautiful. Is it old?"

"Yes, Louisa." Martin had two glasses of water and after handing one to her, he motioned for her to sit down. Louisa sat across from where he stood and took a sip. She looked up at him, hoping to hear a bit more information.

"This clock is a pre-1930 porcelain clock. Ah, a mantle clock ... or perhaps it's better just on a shelf or bedside table because it is quite small. It's broken, but I'll get it running again in time to give to Aunt Joan for her birthday."

"Was it her clock, Martin?" Louisa asked.

"No", Martin replied. " I wanted a clock to fix for myself, so I stopped in an antiques shop in Truro. There were several that needed fixing, but this one seemed ... ah, it's unusual, I thought ... ah, but then ..."

Martin seemed uneasy about having something delicate, lovely and superfluous in his possession, so Louisa broke in with a comment, "t think I understand. It is rather feminine looking with the pastel- colored flowers ... very pretty. Joan will like it."

Martin turned the clock face down on the velvet fabric and showed Louisa the chamber in the back where the mechanism controlled the clock's movements. He explained, "I am waiting for a replacement part to put in. I'm certain that will fix the problem."

"Martin," Louisa looked at him in amazement. "Everything is so tightly arranged. How can you fix it? There's no room to maneuver tools, to even see all of it."

"It's a challenge I like, working in a small space, trying to understand what is wrong, then fixing it," Martin explained.

"You miss your work as a surgeon, don't you?" Louisa asked with a sad smile. She was understanding more about Martin as time went on. He was not always the enigma he seemed to be.

He did not answer her, but stood looking down at the clock, not at her. She finished her glass of water and rose to put it near the sink. Then Louisa headed toward the back door.

Quickly Martin seemed to come out of a daze. "Here, I'll get my keys."

In the car Louisa asked Martin one more question. "When I get up in the middle of the night and there is a light on over here, I always thought you were reading some medical journal. But you could be fixing a clock instead, right?"

Martin simply replied, "Yes," and they drove on in silence. He had apparently spoken his quota of words to her for the evening.

When they reached her home, he made a motion to open his car door. Louisa knew he would come around and open her door for her, but she lightly touched his arm to stop him.

"Thanks, Martin. I'll see you tomorrow." She got out of the car and turned to wave at him before she closed her door.

Once inside, she asked herself why she had been in a hurry to get out of his car. If he had opened her door, perhaps he would have kissed her. No, she was only wishing he would have kissed her.

Louisa, forget it, her inner voice said. Forget him. He's not affectionate, he's not spontaneous. He's just not that kind of man.