Doc Martin and all of its characters, themes and plotlines are the property of Buffalo Pictures. This work of fiction is written for purely entertainment purposes and no infringement of legal rights is intended.

I apologize for the long delay between postings of Dear Louisa. Real life has been very hectic, but good.

Chapter 8

Louisa

Light filtered through the closed shutters of Louisa's bedsit. The soft clatter of weekend traffic drifted up from the street but she didn't hear it, muffled by the thick duvet spread over the narrow twin bed. It had been a long week, with preparing end of term exams and her student's excitement over the upcoming nativity play. Efforts to keep her students focused on their lessons had been an exercise in frustration, and by the Friday afternoon she had all but given up, letting them play about the school yard despite the cold. They hadn't seemed to mind, and she had even joined in, making up the numbers for a game of net ball. It had been a while since she had done any sort of physical activity and her legs and arms were aching and sore. A few more minutes in bed won't hurt, she thought, snuggling deeper under the duvet.

Then, from somewhere across the room, came the sound of her mobile ringing, sharp and insistent. She lifted her head from the pillow to look at the clock perched on her bedside table. It read a little after ten and she groaned at having slept so late. Now half the morning was gone, and if she didn't hurry she'd miss her yoga class. Taught by a former hippie who touted the benefits of colonics and a raw diet (neither of which held any interest for Louisa), she nonetheless found the class relaxing, a sort of mediation as she moved to the slow rhythm of Gregorian chants. Her former tutor had recommended she give yoga a try after complaining of sleepless nights. "It'll help with the stress, dear" Magdalene had said, giving her the name of a friend who taught at the leisure center near Louisa's bedsit. She had looked forward to her weekly class, and knew she'd miss it if she didn't hurry, stumbling out of bed and reaching for the phone without first looking at the display.

"Louisa! Did I wake you?"

Caroline Bosman's voice carried all the way from Portwenn, a tad too loud and cheerful for the still drowsy Louisa. She rubbed her eyes and tried to keep the sleep out of her voice. "No, you didn't wake me." She paused, "Well actually yes. But I should have been up hours ago."

"Out at the clubs till the wee hours? You devil!"

"No, nothing like that. Just tired after a long week." She pulled open the shutters and brilliant sunlight spilled into the cozy bedsit. It had snowed, and fine drifts of white powder covered the pavements and rooftops, softening the harsh city landscape. She blinked a few times from the glare, but continued to stand at the window, watching a woman in a bright yellow coat pushing a pram down the street. She disappeared around the corner, leaving a trail of foot prints on the freshly fallen snow.

"That's why you must come home for Christmas. Did you get my email? The whole family will be here, including Mum. You know how she adores you, and promised to make all your favorite dishes. You can't disappoint an old lady, now can you?"

Louisa smiled – there was nothing old about Celia Croswell. Well into her seventh decade, she had the energy of a woman half her age, the driving force behind the Cornwall Spring Flower Show. It was lauded as second only to the fabled Chelsea in London, and patrons traveled from far and wide to the view the famous display of azaleas and rhododendrons. Celia was a force to reckon with, well-meaning but also stubborn and bossy. Caroline had acquired a healthy dose of these traits from her mother as evident to her next words to Louisa. "You need a break from the big city, Lou-Lou. I insist you come to us for a few days. It'll do you the world of good."

The snow was slowly melting from the warmth of the sun, dripping from the eaves of the grey stone terrace house across the way. The windows were draped against the prying eyes of neighbors, and Louisa had often wondered what small or big dramas were lived behind the otherwise passive façade. Maybe they were curious about her as well, wondering what had brought this petite Cornish woman from the West Country to the big city.

She suddenly felt homesick for the bracing scent of the sea and the screams of marauding seagulls. She wanted to stop by the Crab for a pint and catch up with the village gossip. She wanted to see Caroline and Roger and…

This wouldn't do. "It sounds lovely but I really can't…"

"Can't what?" asked Caroline, a familiar edge to her voice.

Louisa turned away from the window. "I really can't leave right now. You know what it's like, work… and other things." She trailed off, an uneasy silence falling between them.

After a moment Caroline said, "Don't tell me you've had a better offer."

"Well not better, exactly. But you remember my former uni tutor, Magdalene? I was invited to her holiday party, very posh I'm told. Catered by the Savoy. So, see? I won't be alone. And anyhow, I've always enjoyed Christmas in the big city, the lights, the shops. You should see the windows at Selfridge. They've outdone themselves this year."

The bit about enjoying the holiday in London was a bit of a stretch, but the house party at Magdalene was very real. Louisa glanced at the invitation propped up against a listing stack of books and magazines on the coffee table and recalled what Emma had said at the school's staff meeting - it's a couples affair so you'd better find yourself a date. The cream colored enveloped boarded with a line of lush red brought yet again Toby Steel to her mind, his warm brown eyes gazing at her from across the candle lit table. Their chance meeting in the tube had led to a lovely dinner and even better conversation. She couldn't remember the last time she had had this much fun, but this was quickly followed by a pang of guilt; dinners out with Martin hadn't exactly been fun, more of an ordeal really, punctuated by stilted conversation and villagers who had stopped by for medical advice before the first course had even been served.

There is no question being with Martin had been a challenge, in more ways than one. He could be rude and gruff, uninterested in the social niceties expected from a man of his standing. But she had been up to challenge, or so she thought, and believed his social awkwardness would be overcome with time along with a gentle but firm hand. This had lent a sense of adventure - and at times frustration- to their relationship. It was unlikely she'd ever meet another man like him, a tangle of contradictions that would have taken her a lifetime to unravel.

Toby was nothing like Martin. He enjoyed being around people, at ease with himself and others. It would only be natural to invite him to accompany her to Magdalene's holiday affair, but she had only got as far as reading the scribbled phone number on his business card before putting it away again. She knew she was being foolish, that there was no harm in asking. But she just couldn't bring herself to place the call, worried it would lead to something she wasn't ready to handle. She didn't need any more complications in her life and had slipped Toby's card in the top drawer of her desk, firmly sliding it shut.

As expected, Caroline wasn't dissuaded by Louisa's line of reasoning. "The party shouldn't interfere with anything. It's settled then, I'll have Tom fetch you at Bodmin station. You'll stay with us, of course. I've just done up the guest room, and think you'll love the new colors," she said before adding, "and Mummy will be thrilled!"

"Caroline, I really can't."

There was silence at the other end of the line and then, "I knew it! It's because of him, isn't it? That's why you won't come to Portwenn for Christmas." Caroline's voice was hard and biting, and Louisa recoiled from the heat of her anger. But then she caught herself; it wouldn't do to let Caroline take the upper hand. There had been enough of that over the years, a constant and delicate dance aimed at avoiding disputes, usually at Louisa's expense.

"My staying here as nothing to do with Martin," said Louisa sharply. But the minute the words were out of her mouth, she knew it had everything to do with Martin.

Her thoughts never strayed far from the tall GP that had stolen her heart even though they were now separated by miles of moorland and countryside. She often found herself slipping into pools of memories, images of walks on the coast path or dinners in the surgery kitchen flashing across the screen of her mind. But it was the nights that had stayed with her, sweet and passionate, the fulfillment of long held yearnings. Only the demands of the classroom allowed her an escape for lessons plans and tutoring left little time for wallowing, and for this she was grateful.

Of course Caroline was right; she couldn't face her ex-fiancé, not yet, maybe not ever. It had been hard enough leaving Portwenn without going back and adding salt to a wound that had barely started to heal.

"Come on, Lou-Lou, we both know that's not true. Whether you want to admit it or not, you're staying away because of him. Everyone knows he chased you from the one and only home you've ever known. It just makes my blood boil to see him strut around the village as if nothing ever happened. Just the other day Mrs. Lamb gave him a piece of her mind, saying it wasn't right what he did. The good doctor had nothing to say, just kept walking with that look on his face. You know the one where you'd think he'd just stepped in dog poo." She came up for air and added, "And he still he refuses to come on my radio program, the tosser."

Louisa quivered with indignation; how dare the villagers have such a low opinion of the man who was always on hand to care for the sick of Portwenn? Martin may have many faults, but he was a good doctor and no one could truthfully say otherwise. "I'd like to remind you the "tosser" saved your life, Caroline. If it wasn't for him, you'd have died from the diabetes. And by the way, he didn't run me out of the village. I chose to leave." Her cheeks were flushed and her chest tight. She snapped a yellow leaf off the potted plant on the window sill and crushed it between her shaking fingers. It felt wet and sticky, and she opened her hand to see the leaf mangled to a greenish pulp. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away, walking to the kitchen counter to wipe off the mess with a paper towel.

"Don't get upset, Lou-Lou. I just hate what he's done, that's all."

Louisa's bravado of a moment ago dissipated like storm clouds swept away by a stiff breeze. What was it Caroline had said – strutting about as if nothing had ever happened? In the deep and private recess of her mind she had imagined a dejected Martin rattling about his cottage, languishing from a broken heart. Well possibly languish was a little strong, but something to show he'd missed her, even a little. But by all accounts he was his usual self, unaffected by her sudden departure from the village. This bit of news left her feeling tired and deflated, and she sat heavily on the edge of the sofa, the phone uncomfortably warm against her ear.

"Look, I should go," she said to Caroline. "You know what it's like, weekend errands and such."

"Yes. Well think about my offer. It'll still stand, even if you decided to come at the last minute."

Louisa answered she'd think about it, and this seemed to satisfy Caroline, at least for the time being. They spent a few minutes talking about Louisa's new job (nice enough pupils but the nuns were a little strange) and Caroline's upcoming interview to a host a radio talk show in Truro (bigger market, more money). After promising to say in touch, Caroline once again begged her friend to consider traveling to the coast for Christmas. "It'll do you the world of good," she said before ringing off.

Louisa remained seat, gazing out the window at the clearing skies. Until Caroline's call she looked forward to her Saturday; the yoga class followed by a stop at the grocers for the weekly shop, and then an afternoon visit to the Portrait Gallery. But her plans had lost their luster, and she reached for the wool throw, the one Martin had given her shortly after their engagement. It had come as a surprise, Martin not being the gift giving sort of person, prettily wrapped in stripped pink and white paper and topped by a bow. He had seen it in a shop window in Truro, and though it would be useful, keeping her warm on those winter days when the damped seeped into ones bones. It was a soft blue, handspun of the highest quality cashmere, or so the shop lady had told Martin. He had proceed to list the throw's many attributes with great seriousness, and it was only when Louisa had draped her arms around his neck and kissed him had he finally understood she was pleased by his gift.

Now she pushed the throw aside, choking back tears. She knew dredging up the past would get her nowhere, but nonetheless remained seated, letting the memories wash through her until they slowly faded to black.

Author's Note

The Cornwall Spring Flower Show is held every April at the Bocconoc Estate in Lostwithiel. The estate has a long and fine history, first referenced in the Domesday Book, published in 1086. The current family came in possession of house and land in 1864 but it fell into disrepair after the Second World War. This was not an uncommon fate for these large estates; taxes coupled with a sluggish post war economy made it almost impossible to maintain what was often viewed as relics of an obsolete way of life.

Boscconoc Estate has since been restored to its former glory. As an avid gardener, I hope to visit the spectacular grounds on my next visit to England.