I'd laid the workings of the watch out on a small, wooden, felt lined box and placed it on the bookshelf in my office. As I'd suspected, the causes of its failure were a broken balance staff and mainspring and, upon discovering this, I'd been both a little relieved and just a bit perturbed. I believed I had the tools and the skill to return it to functioning order but whether I would be able to source the parts was another matter entirely.
Fortunately, a call to the antique watch parts supplier had secured a replacement spring in a timely manner, but the balance staff, as I'd feared, proved problematical. I spent a frustrating afternoon on the telephone, in between what seemed like an endless procession of halfwits who seemed to have nothing better to do than sit in my office and waste my time, interrupting the assignment I had charged myself with, and stoking my aggravation. Just as I had finally Identified a reputable craftsman who was prepared to manufacture the aforementioned balance staff, Bernard Newton himself knocked cheerfully on the door and blustered in.
"I..I dare say you've heard the news, Martin." He said pleasantly, in the genteel yet slightly vague way he had of conversing. "What say you eh? The old man doesn't want the competition, hmmm?"
He lowered himself elegantly onto the corner of the desk and I couldn't help but Cast a dubious glance at the dark green velvet jacket he was wearing. Resisting the temptation to point out, somewhat acidly, that I did in fact have chairs, I found myself instead pondering the meaning of the statement he'd just uttered.
"Bernard, I have no idea what you are talking about." I replied rather abruptly, and he greeted my response with a surprised laugh.
"Right, yes, yes, yes, well of course you don't." He said, almost apologetically. "Thoughtless of me...It seems your dear papa is..is..is hanging up the scalpel.
His statement took me by surprise and I stared at him blankly for a moment, transfixed by his jauntily swinging leg as he rocked back and forth on my desk.
"He can't be..be much more than sixty, can he?" Bernard added, folding his arms and looking at me querulously. "Seems a bit, well, premature...unless his hand was forced."
"I...umm...I have no idea. We don't speak." I muttered.
"Well, if I..I..I do hear anything, I will be sure to..to.. let you know. I suspect he doesn't want to be shown up by..by..by his son but what do I know eh? I..I..I could be wrong. It has been known to...to happen." He said, and smiled at me knowingly. "Ask my wife."
I squared my shoulders and looked down at him. Bernard had been my tutor earlier in my surgical training and I had a lot of respect for him but he of all people should know that I did not indulge in hospital gossip, least of all when it was about my own father.
"Mmmm." I replied, picking up a sheet of paper randomly from my desk and turning my back on him. "If you don't mind, Bernard, ummm, I must get on."
"Yes..yes..yes, of course, of course." He replied affably, and I heard a heavy thud as he heaved himself back onto his feet. "Goodbye Martin."
"Yes." I replied off-handedly, only turning around when I was sure that he had gone, and closing the door firmly behind him.
Although I will admit to initial surprise at the news of my father's impending retirement, it only briefly came to mind during the course of the next period of time. The truth is that he bore such little consequence to my life, I gave it almost no consideration whatsoever. In fact, because I had done everything possible to distance myself from Christopher Ellingham in both character and reputation, and I had purposely cut myself off from all but the barest minimum of contact with both my parents, upon reflection, it didn't seem to affect me in the slightest.
For reasons which I didn't totally understand, I was far more concerned with my own pressing issues, and the strangely compelling need to deliver on the promised watch repair. Finally, I was able to speak to a craftsman who was confident that he could remanufacture the delicate balance staff for me and, although I was relieved that he agreed to take on the job, the wait would be four weeks from his receiving the original part to use as a template. Sighing with frustration, I took down his details and added a trip to the post office to my ever-growing to-do list.
In hindsight, the manufacturing time turned out to be of little consequence as I battled my way through an exceptionally arduous and demanding month, and I had neither the leisure time nor the sharpness of mind required to complete the restoration to a satisfactory standard. Several times, as I had glanced at the box in passing, I'd felt a swell of regret but I'd managed to quickly compose myself and carry on past it. Truly, I'd never needed my focus to be so totally and utterly fixed upon my goals more so than these incredibly demanding and energy-sapping final few weeks. As far as I was aware, Louisa was similarly placed with her own studies and I could only hope that she would understand.
The only moment that I'd really let my attention waver was in Aberdeen, where I'd slipped away from the conference to avoid a particularly tedious and overblown late afternoon presentation, and found myself looking in the window of a rather quirky and interesting antique dealers. Unable to help myself, I'd wandered in and chanced upon a charming and unusual red lacquered presentation case, delicately inlaid with mother of pearl. My eye had been immediately drawn to the quality of the work and, I'd stared at it for several moments, wrestling with the insistent voice in my head that urged me toward its purchase. Before I realised it, I was walking briskly back towards the hotel, with a small but sturdy paper bag clutched in one hand and experiencing the slightly uncomfortable feeling that perhaps a red box might be just a touch too suggestive.
When finally the month was over, I felt like a battling oceanic yachtsman who has finally made it to the safety of a calm harbour. I was as drained and as utterly depleted as it were possible to be and yet seemingly still be able to function; existing with the constant ache of mental exhaustion, my mind jaded, my senses muted, and my limbs heavy. I'd fallen into bed, bone weary and numb, and slept like the dead; waking at first light to discover barely a ripple or crease in my bedding, such had been my heaviness of my sleep.
My examinations had gone exceptionally well and the paper that my colleague and I had presented at Aberdeen had been particularly well received but the mental exertion had taken rather a heavy toll and I was particularly relieved to have two full days away from medicine and, even more importantly, the sense of self-immolation that I was currently experiencing. I was relieved when I awoke because, in the peaceful solitude of my silent room, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, there seemed be space in my mind. Inevitably, thoughts of Louisa immediately filled it, and I lay still and calm and felt the sensation of warmth that ebbed and flowed through my body whenever she slipped into my mind.
Inviolable, untouchable, invulnerable. The three pillars upon which I have constructed my austere existence up to this point in my life. There are times when it has been so very difficult; for all my strict self regulation and enforced abstinence, I am a healthy, adult male and I will admit there have been temptations. But I have been fortunate never to have lost sight of my goals, nor the understanding that, in order to reach them, then the sacrifice and self control must be nothing short of superhuman.
After the whole painful and embarrassing Edith debacle, I was forced to reflect upon my own behaviour. The more consideration I gave it, the more I understood how empty and unfulfilled satisfying my need for physical release had left me feeling. Although I had clung to ideals of intellectual superiority I realised that, in succumbing so readily to the needs of the flesh, I was no better than an alley cat or indeed my own father. Frankly, that comparison had disgusted me and so, from that time on, I had practiced self-denial until it had become second nature to me.
Now, I have no actual requirement to either fight or deny my thoughts, or to sublimate the spark I had felt so strongly in recent weeks. While I can't deny an intense physical attraction, one that hit me like a disorienting tsunami of desire, it is a more intangible thing that now causes me to feel a strange combination of anxiety and excitement. I can't describe the sensation except to say that it drives me to prioritise spending my precious and rare consecutive days off solely on the task of repairing her watch in the hope that I can soon return it to her.
When I finally sat down at my desk, and gazed into the box, I felt a nonsensical flush of anticipation. I'd previously cleaned and prepared all the various parts and, even though the tolerances were incredibly fine, with its superb quality of workmanship, I managed to reassemble it with relative ease. The feeling as I wound the crown for the first time I can only describe as immensely satisfying, and I all I could do was stare transfixed as the seconds hand swept rhythmically and determinedly around the dial. I would need to set it aside now and make sure that it was keeping accurate time but, even though it now appeared to functioning, I couldn't seem to put it down. With growing dissatisfaction, I looked at the chain that it was attached to; it was clearly neither antique nor interesting, and the securing catch was bent and looked prone to failure. The watch itself was an exquisite piece of Victorian ladies jewellery and the more I looked at the it, the more I realised that the miserable, thin, cheap links did it a gross disservice.
Later, as I made my usual pilgrimage to the dry cleaners, I felt compelled to deviate from my usual path to call in on an antique and estate jewellers that was tucked away behind a travel agents along the High Street. I hoped that they might offer a more period-appropriate necklace chain that I could investigate as a safer, more secure option. It seemed too great a risk to repair the thing, only to have Louisa lose it as a result of defective fittings.
In the cabinet beneath the cash register, it immediately caught my eye: a delicate silver chain mail choker which appeared have been threaded through with a strip of black velvet. To my eye, it would be the perfect accoutrement to the watch but yet I stared at it, paralysed by indecision. Although I had complete trust in my eye for aesthetics, I had no such faith in my grasp of the nuances of gift-giving. Would it be too much? Was I exceeding my remit? Would it seem so utterly inappropriate as to embarrass us both? I was honestly at a loss.
An elderly lady materialised from a back room and greeted me pleasantly; evidently her shrewd sales skills immediately identified my discomfort and lack of assuredness for, within minutes, I was placing the small satin bag containing the choker into my inside jacket pocket and making my way back out onto the street. Apparently, all my concerns were unfounded and it was the security of the piece around the neck of the young lady which must be a priority. The fact that it was a beautifully patinated, hallmarked sterling silver antique, with provenance, was merely a fortunate bonus.
After supper, to the calming melodies of Satie's Gymnopedies, I set about attaching the watch to the new chain and, I must admit, the effect was most striking, and even I was a little taken aback as I allowed myself to briefly imagine how well it would suit Louisa and how it might look, nestled at the base of her beautiful neck. As I sat and gazed at the fruits of my labours, I experienced a strange and disconcerting combination of fear and excitement and, for a moment, I felt my heart race. The only previous sensation that had even come close in intensity was as I scrubbed for my first emergency surgery so many years ago now.
All I dared hope was that she might be happy with the result. As I sat, I recalled her as a teenage girl, when her previous gratitude for even the smallest acts of consideration almost proved to overwhelm her. Back then, her emotional reactions had terrified me but, now, I was less sure how I would react if she chose to express any gratitude she might be feeling; not that I was looking for appreciation, because my reasons for taking on the repair were entirely altruistic. Arranging it carefully into the little red presentation box, I sat it on my desk. If it were still keeping accurate time in the morning, and no further adjustments were necessary, then I would make arrangements to call her and arrange for it's return. At least now, I had a perfectly good reason to see her again, all I had to do was to summon the courage to pick up the telephone.