(I think everyone is feeling the void; this strange sort of sadness that has descended upon us since the end of DM. It's unfortunately a pretty busy time of year for me too so please forgive the shorter chapter but I decided it was better to give you something to read now than make you wait another month for a longer chapter. Reviews are always encouraging, so if you want more Wheezer, please leave a review. (((-:
Thank you to everyone who leaves a comment, I really do appreciate it.)
Her hands were cold and they trembled as she fumbled with the box. This is where spontaneity gets you, I remember thinking, buffeted by an icy wind, raindrops biting into my flesh like a peppering of birdshot. I will have been holding my breath, since I felt as raw and exposed as the stony desolate harbour in which we stood. But, as the day's last light was consumed by the advancing storm, we'd shared a surprising moment of communion, Louisa and I. One glance at her face and I allowed myself to believe that I had been forgiven. She seemed oblivious to the way her hair whipped about her jaw, appearing transfixed but not in horror nor embarrassment, nor in any way that made me feel pitied or derided. There was just her smile; innocent at first, and then utterly, breathtakingly dazzling. And, as she nodded at me, glassy-eyed and disbelieving, the weather was no longer simply atrocious; suddenly, incredibly, it was absolutely bloody exhilarating.
"Yes, Martin….I will!"
Of course, the exact sequence of events is somewhat hazy but, to this very day, I can revisit my feelings instantly, reliving the moment when Louisa leapt vehemently into my arms. Her acceptance had barely even registered with me, but, dazed and disbelieving, I held her up, and swung her around; light as a feather as she clung to me. Her rain-dampened hair smelt of apples and I'd closed my eyes, euphoric at at just the scent of her. Even now, I struggle to believe how fantastical a day that was; honestly, it defied comprehension. I had endured so many interminable nights lying awake alone. All those miserable, empty hours thinking of nothing but her, and my shame at the enormity of my failure, exacerbated horribly by the two-point-three carat testament to my incompetence, hidden away at the back of a drawer.
As I'd packed away her things, I'd done my best to avoid thinking about the ring but, galvanised by the cold light of day, the next morning, I'd retrieved the bloody thing from my desk. Looking at that little red velvet box was like the worst sort of self-flagellation, and all I could do was to shove it hastily into a pocket of my briefcase. And I was incapable of being philosophical; I believed that this really was the end, and just how far Louisa had penetrated my defences was illustrated rather cruelly by the actual physical pain I felt. My god, it had hurt like hell, as if I were amputating my own limbs but, somehow, summoning my grimmest resolve, I had struggled for breath and carried on, fumbling with my handkerchief as I wrestled with waves of nausea. But, as I stowed the briefcase in its usual place behind the driver's seat, I knew that even the humiliation of pursuing a refund from the jeweller was preferable to having a redundant engagement ring in my possession a moment longer. The last thing I wanted was a reminder, in perpetuity, of my own inadequacy. By the time I'd pulled into my parking space at Imperial, I'd pulled myself together, confident I'd suppressed the urge I had to weep.
Outside it sounds like rain and I roll onto my side and reach for her; after all these years, I crave the comfort of her still. Easing my hand beneath her ribs, I recall how, for years, she'd teased me about the method of my proposal; how we were apparently frozen stiff, half drowned, and in mortal danger from a one-in-one-hundred year tempest. I always indulged her her recollection. For my part, my redemption in her eyes was too incredible, too overwhelming to worry about the weather. As I'd relinquished my hold on her, and eased her to her feet, the first clap of thunder had sounded in the distance. It had been loud enough that Louisa had uttered a funny little squeak of alarm and muttered my name rather urgently. Consequently, we'd made a mad dash across the beach; me, gripping her hand tightly and, pointlessly, urging caution as she squealed and leapt over tidal pools with an almost childlike excitement.
And it was a tremendous storm. I don't believe we could see much at all, the rain coming in sideways as we splashed across wet sand and skidded over slimy rocks. But none of it mattered. There was just Louisa and me, and I felt almost invincible. With her hand in mine I had momentarily achieved the inviolability I'd always sought, but in a way I'd never imagined. Ahead of us, the lights of the hotel had glowed warm and welcoming through the deluge and, in a moment of utter recklessness, I'd simply kept running up the little path, bypassing the car, and steering her back into the pub.
"What? Are we going to stay?" She'd asked me breathlessly, threading both her arms through mine and gazing up at me.
She stirs, and I press my lips lightly to her shoulder until she settles. Our retreat from the weather had brought us to this very room. Thinking back now, booking into a hotel was perhaps the most unpremeditated moment of my entire life. But to drive to the farm in those dangerous conditions, with the off-putting prospect of a dismal tepid shower, and the probable interruption by a cynical aunt; suddenly, none of it sounded at all appealing. Memories come back to me so clearly; Louisa, so vital, so spirited, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling; my god, she was absolutely radiant. And why not, when we were in possession of a thrilling sort of secret, she and I? Chin up, shoulders back, I'd even banged the desk bell with a swaggering flourish. She'd grinned at me then and her meaning was clear; from that moment on, I was walking on air.
In contrast, dull-eyed and disinterested, the receptionist had barely given us a second glance. She'd snatched my card from my hand, taking an imprint of it and muttering a few broken sentences in heavily-accented English, oblivious to our lack of luggage. Even though I, too, was acutely aware we had no change of clothing, no toiletries, nor even a toothbrush, I honestly couldn't have cared less. There was just Louisa, beside me, attempting to stifle her exuberance, biting her lip as we hurried to the stairs, still grinning as she glanced repeatedly from her hand to me, and back again. The room then, as now, was quite satisfactory; clean and so pleasantly warm it felt almost balmy as we tumbled together through the door. Convinced that my decision had been the correct one, I'd been buoyant as I hung my very damp coat on the back of the door, bounding across to switch on the bedside lamp.
Divesting myself of wet shoes and socks had been quite a relief too, as was the act of removing my jacket and, after a moment's contemplation, my tie. And Louisa had been so animated, so eager and full of life as she danced about, stripping off her wet clothing and draping it across the radiator. Did I try not to stare as she emerged from the bathroom, lithe and flawless, clad only in her underwear? Possibly, but I was never very good at averting my gaze. More than likely, I drank her in, as I was inclined to do; she always had seemed rather an impossible fantasy for someone like me, a figment of my most concupiscent imagination. She was perched on the edge of the bed, wrapping her head in a towel, the first time I'd really wondered. In fact, to this very day, the idea still lingers; how on earth did such a spectacular, spirited creature ever agree to become my wife?
At that moment, there'd been a fearsome crash of thunder, much closer this time, shaking the room and causing the the window glass to vibrate with a wasp-like hum. I'd turned the armchair toward the window, noting that a rapidly diminishing streak of light was all that defined the horizon now; a vague, pale delineation between ferocious sea and moody sky. Sinking into the soft cushioned seat, I said her name, hoping it might encourage her to me. Glancing up, she'd held my gaze; sweet and trusting but, like me, a little dumbstruck, a little stunned. However, shaking out her hair, she had discarded her towel and I'd stared blatantly as she wandered casually toward me, turning off the ceiling light before sliding wordlessly into my lap.
As long as I live I will never forget how glorious it was to sit there with her. I'd been struck by the serenity there was, perhaps even safety in the way she was curled around me, the way she fitted so perfectly against me. It was blissful, a cotton throw from the back of the chair as a makeshift blanket across her lap; her flesh, as always, warm and smooth; what little remained of her clothing light and silky to my touch. In fact, as moments go, it was almost transcendent. Divine, openhearted Louisa, nestled against…betrothed, in fact, to me, undoubtedly the most fortunate man in England.
"It's so beautiful, Martin." She'd said huskily, after a few minutes, twisting her hand this way and that, trying to catch what little there was of the light.
"Mm." I'd grunted and I'd been aware of a sudden rib tightness, a flood of feelings so intense it could have been an intracardiac shot of adrenaline.
As provocative as she was though, as sweet and soft and feminine, I had been utterly content just to hold her. The storm was spectacular, continuing for quite some time and, together, we'd watched lightning fork repeatedly across the sky. With every flash she had pressed herself against me, exhaling in awe, counting the seconds to the thunderclap, as the storm seemed to circle the village. And, with every strike, she had been illuminated; dreamy-eyed and peaceful, her cheek against my chest. I'd been mesmerised, of course; the shadowy light accentuating her loveliness; her cheek, the curve of her mouth, the absolute perfection of her bone structure. And I couldn't help noticing, with an odd sort of satisfaction, how the shade emphasised the curve of her breasts too, finding myself compelled, unashamedly, to trace the hollows.
"Martin?" She'd murmured, reaching up to cover my hand with hers.
"Mm…" I'd replied dreamily, feeling beguiled and soothed and, if I am honest, still rather revelling in my miraculous good fortune.
"Everything that happened with your job, and your parents…" She'd said gently, squeezing my fingers as if to emphasise her point. "Promise me, you will never let things get that bad again. Promise me you won't keep things from me…"
I'd sighed resignedly. "Louisa, it's not…"
"No, Martin, I mean it. Never again." She'd interrupted firmly, and she had turned her head to look up at me, clear-eyed, her gaze unblinking. "You've got to promise me!"
I'd stared back at her, wondering how I could ever commit to such a vow, knowing myself as I did. A lifetime of keeping everything to myself, of managing my life on my own; I did understand why she was asking, but I had no intention of giving my word when I suspected I'd struggle to ever keep it. Even in the gloom though, her frown had been obvious, and her disappointment in me tangible. And then she had sighed too, lifting her chin, her eyes dark, her expression appraising.
"Because, Martin, otherwise I'm afraid, I'll be giving you the ring back…."
She nodded at me then, as if to make sure I understood. And, unequivocally, I did; I understood completely. Twenty four hours ago I was a hollow man, simply going through the motions, the rest of my life looming like an icy abyss. I'd learned enough about myself since she'd run from me that I knew I couldn't bear to be without her; I'd become almost reliant on the way her joy just seeped into my soul. I yearned for her encouragement, and her kindness and, without doubt, I was in desperate need of her love. For the rest of my days I wanted to wake up with her and, whenever possible, to have her fall asleep in my arms. I longed for our early nights, and rainy Sunday afternoons, and the quiet pleasures of long walks and market stalls full of antiques. I wanted the cosy domesticity of a life shared with Louisa; nothing was ever dreary when she was at my side. But most surprisingly, I realised I needed her to challenge me, to surprise me, even to defy me; anything to bring the unexpected into my regimented world.
"No, I don't want that." I'd assured her hastily, convinced of that much at least, even if I wasn't entirely clear on what it was that she expected of me.
I realise now how astute she was becoming in her management of me but, at the time, I was just grateful to sit there, conscious of her long determined silence, simply because it gave me time to formulate my thoughts. And I was trying, even if I found myself wishing we were lying together in total darkness, if only because it always made it so much easier to talk. The truth was undeniable. Outside of medicine, I had endeavoured to lead a steady, predictable life, as devoid of troughs as it was of peaks. But Louisa's acceptance of my proposal was undoubtedly the pinnacle of my achievements, and I was prepared to do whatever I could to make her happy. With my lips on her hair, I'd entwined my fingers through the thick damp locks, encouraging her head back onto my chest. Closing my eyes, I'd whispered in her ear that I wanted to do better and, with a lump in my throat, I'd assured her that I would try to communicate to the best of my ability. But I admitted to her too, that I simply wasn't confident that I wouldn't somehow let her down.
"I don't think I'm going to be much good at that, Louisa." I'd breathed into her ear. "I think I'm going to need your help."