Despite a ponderous driver who was determined to eke out every quid he could from the three mile journey, it was under fifteen minutes until Martin found himself standing on the footpath outside Louisa's flat. He contemplated the building itself, an unsightly and depressing edifice typical of the utilitarian buildings constructed all over England in the nineteen sixties. That an area such as Belgravia, with its sought after addresses and fine architecture, should contain such a monstrosity within its famous postcode was completely offensive to him. The bright sunshine only served to highlight its many flaws, and he curled his lip as he stepped carefully over the mouldy, moss encrusted door mat to rap his knuckles on the oxidised paint of the front door.
Taking a step backwards, Martin composed himself, clasping his hands behind him, and lifting his chin so that he could stare ominously down his nose at whomever answered the door. Cautious of the reception that awaited him, he stood ramrod straight, squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest, determined to make the most of every advantage his impressive height gave him. The longer he waited, the deeper his scowl became.
Eventually, the door opened and before him stood a young blonde woman who greeted him, wordlessly, with a rather belligerent, frozen expression. Before he could announce himself, her eyes narrowed, she tossed her head and her hands slid defiantly onto her hips. Undeterred, Martin took a half step forward, looming over her so that she was forced to tilt her head back to maintain her icy glare. Many years of practice, confronting uncooperative colleagues, meant that he knew exactly what would happen next; Libby involuntarily took a step backwards and he strode haughtily past her and into a small, gloomy reception room.
Closing the door, she turned to look at him and, despite the fact she found his demeanour irritating in the extreme, she was, in truth, fascinated to finally meet the man Louisa was clearly so enamoured of. An archetypal, arrogant surgeon, she thought cynically, swaggering into the house as if we should feel honoured by his presence, his eyes taking in the room disdainfully, and with an unmistakable air of superiority. For once, she was almost lost for words and they stood in silence while Martin's expression became even more severe and disapproving. Finally, his cold, grey stare rested upon Libby, and he merely raised an eyebrow at her, a gesture she took to be one of impatience and irritation.
"I'll let Louisa know you're here." She said coldly.
Martin continued to look around him, taking in the dull walls, the sagging, threadbare furniture, and the faded curtains, which hung limply and unevenly at the single window. Remembering a similarly miserable cottage high on the hill in Port Wenn, he felt a depressing sense of déjà vu. He presumed the musty smell was emanating from the carpet and he looked down at the floor in disgust. If he didn't know better he would have sworn the colour and the patterning of the Axminster was based on the appearance of the smallpox virus, as viewed through the lens of a powerful microscope. Sighing heavily, he supposed that Louisa once again found herself living in a hovel due to her constrained circumstances and total absence of parental support, and the more he thought about it, the more it genuinely pained him.
Libby appraised him, surreptitiously, from the kitchen for a brief moment before she approached again. She had to admit that, physically, he was just her type. She liked them tall and broad shouldered, and she wasn't even averse to a bit of arrogance; it certainly abounded amongst the sporting types she generally found herself connecting with, and heightened self-confidence was certainly something she usually found very attractive. Perhaps that's why she was drawn to Matt and, when she thought about it, several other young Australian men she had naturally seemed to gravitate toward. Innate self belief could really be quite intoxicating, she acknowledged, and Martin did seem to have that in spades.
She reflected that there was no doubt that he was imposing and, in his perfectly tailored, dark blue suit, she could well understand how Louisa might be physically attracted to him. But, what else did she see in him? It was rather baffling when, personality-wise, Libby found him to be cold, intimidating and, frankly, rude. She also felt very protective of Louisa, and his unpleasant outburst on the telephone just a short while earlier was concerning her greatly. The way he seemed to lash out was especially worrying, considering that the only thing she could see that Louisa had done wrong was to fall ill.
She cleared her throat and he turned to face her. For a few seconds they eyeballed each other suspiciously and, in the brief moments before she felt compelled to look away, Libby noticed something else that surprised her. There was no hint of appraisal in his gaze; no sense that he was looking her up and down, no indication at all that he'd noticed that she was young, scantily-clad and generally considered very attractive. For a moment, it almost stung her, but then she laughed at herself instead, amused that her ego was apparently so delicate that it could be bruised by the icy, apparently unappreciative gaze of this forbidding and aloof young man.
"She's awake." Libby said simply and turned on her heel.
Without a word, Martin followed her, down a short corridor to a jerry-built wall and a thin, mismatched door. It looked like a stage set, flimsy and clearly a more recent addition; and it appeared that part of a room had been cut in half to create an extra bedroom which ran into the cavity under the stairs. Libby looked at him pointedly and, gesturing at the door, she flattened herself against the wall so that he could pass. Somewhat unusually, he turned his back to her as he slipped by, pausing by the door to glance at her dismissively. She edged quietly back toward the kitchen, listening intently, and ready to turn on him in a flash if he continued on today in the same combative manner of that morning's explosion.
She heard him tap lightly on the door and then there was a pause before he spoke.
"Louisa." He said, uttering her name so softly and gently it was like a sigh. "It's Martin, umm, may I come in?"
Libby stood in disbelief. His voice was now honeyed, low and warm and, when she compared it to the caustic outburst she'd been on the receiving end of, she was quite astonished. Fascinated, she watched him from the corner of her eye, unable to discern Louisa's muffled response but noticing his momentary hesitation, taking a moment to compose himself, before he tentatively pushed open the door and slipped into her room.
For a moment, Libby was disappointed. She realised that she was desperate to see them together, to observe their interaction and see if she could possibly discern any chemistry between them. He seemed such a cold fish, and Louisa was so uncertain of herself and so inexperienced, that Libby couldn't imagine that there was any sort of wild, pheromone-driven, ravenous, animal attraction developing. Smiling to herself, she picked up her handbag and made her way outside, slamming the door loudly so that they knew without a doubt that she had gone. But, as she wandered down the road, revelling in the warmth of the sun, she couldn't help but replay in her mind, the rather delectable way she'd heard him say Louisa's name. Perhaps there was more to him than met the eye.
Martin had waited for Louisa's faint and muffled acknowledgement before he quietly let himself in. Feeling rather uncomfortable at the prospect of entering her bedroom, he immediately adopted his imperturbable surgical persona, and stood by her bed, coolly professional, as if he were about to reach for her chart and discuss her treatment with a gaggle of junior doctors.
The bed was narrow and jammed up against one wall of the tiny, cramped room. Wrapped in kaleidoscopic array of mismatched bedding, Louisa was curled up on her side, facing him. He gazed down at her, moved by how delicate and vulnerable she seemed, and noting that her usually sparkling eyes seemed so tired and heavy-lidded as they struggled to focus. He placed the paper bag on the floor and pushed it gently underneath her bed with the toe of his shoe.
"How are you feeling?" He asked in a low quiet voice, his eyes wrinkled with concern. Seeing her now, so clearly ill, so listless, with her defences down and her usual brilliance so reduced, filled him with yet another peculiar emotion, one that he couldn't easily identify. Whatever it was; regret, remorse, perhaps even guilt, it was new to him and he didn't like it.
"Martin." She said, in a small voice; attempting a wan smile and blinking fiercely against the light.
He looked down at her, as she struggled feebly to extricate herself from the swaddling blankets until, finally, her arms were free and she attempted to push herself up to a seated position.
"Here, umm, let me..." He said, leaning over and pulling a couple of the thin pillows in behind her back for support. He could feel her residual heat in the bedding and, as he focused on compressing and adjusting them to best support her, he was aware of a subtle fragrance; alluringly and undeniably feminine. Swallowing hard, he stepped backwards and, lifting his chin, observed her coolly.
"Thank you." She said weakly, turning slowly to reach for her water glass. "Very bad head."
He noted her inflexibility with a degree of concern.
"So, ahh, do you frequently suffer from severe headaches or is this unusual?"
She took a tentative sip and pressed her head back against the wall.
"Maybe once or twice before." She said and her voice was quiet and defeated. "Had a sore neck, umm from studying... migraine came on during the last exam."
"Yes, I noticed the neck stiffness. No rash that you are aware of?"
Louisa smiled weakly. "No Martin, no rash that I'm aware of."
He cleared his throat.
"Umm, do you mind if I...?" He asked, pausing mid sentence as their eyes met and she gave him a barely perceptible nod of acquiescence.
He picked up her her limp arm and felt gently for her radial pulse, staring thoughtfully down at her for a moment before placing her hand carefully back down by her side. He pressed his fingers to her forehead and, suddenly, she felt overcome with shyness, casting her eyes downwards self-consciously. Of the many scenarios in which she'd imagined Martin's presence in her bedroom, this most definitely hadn't be one of them.
"I must look a sight." She mumbled.
"Mmm." he replied absently as he slipped his fingers under her jaw, feeling for her glands.
Her heart sunk. Of course he'd noticed that she looked like the Wreck of the Hesperus and she felt herself cringe. Was there to ever be an occasion where they were together that didn't involve her experiencing some degree of humiliation? It actually felt like the universe was conspiring to only reveal her to him in a poor or shameful light. Sighing, she realised with resignation that her underwear was sure to be visible on the floor, and that he couldn't help but have noticed her good bra hanging from the door handle.
Martin's fingers were now pressing firmly into the muscles at the base of her skull and involuntarily she leaned into the pressure and closed her eyes.
"Mmm, its very tight in there." He replied, running his thumb firmly down the side of her neck, before he leaned back and stared at her shoulders, frowning in concentration.
"Louisa, can you try and touch your right ear to your right shoulder for me?"
Martin watched her struggle awkwardly to oblige, as the thin strap of whatever under garment she was wearing slid off her shoulder and she clutched at it, as if the minuscule amount of fabric was somehow protecting her modesty. It was almost the undoing of him; he felt his pulse quicken and a noted a strange sensation of invigoration. He swallowed hard, and reprimanded himself severely; taking a moment to compose himself.
"Sternocleidomastoid, Semispinalis capitis, Splenius capitis, Longissimus capitis." he recited to himself, robotically. "Trapezius, Rhomboides minor, Rhomboides major..."
Breathing in deeply, he focused his thoughts again.
"Now, the other side?" He said, relieved to hear the cool dispassionate tone return to his voice.
Louisa tilted her head tentatively and the pain hit her like the sear of a burn. Martin noticed the grimace on her face and, instinctively, his hand went back to her neck, supporting the weight of her head. Without thinking he found himself kneading the painfully taut musculature firmly with his fingers.
"Very likely a tension related migraine then. Understandable, in the circumstances." He said, endeavouring to sound phlegmatic.
Louisa winced and closed her eyes, pushing back against his fingers and feeling a warm flood of relief as some of the tension began to dissipate. She suddenly felt lighter as some of the tightness and pressure that had enveloped her began to ebb away.
"That feels brilliant." She breathed, and let the air escape from her lungs in a low, soft moan.
In an instant, everything around him seemed altered. The room was suddenly silent and still, and all he was aware of was the feel of her skin under his fingertips and the sensation of her hair brushing softly against the back of his hand. She tilted her head back and he watched, transfixed, as her lips parted in a soft smile. God, even when she is ill, she is still so beautiful, he thought to himself and his head began to swim. Reflexively, he found himself drawing her head towards him, cupping her jaw and finding his fingers entangling in her hair.
"Oww!" She squealed and it was enough to shatter the trance he'd found himself in. He opened his eyes with a start and saw, to his utter dismay, he that he'd snagged her with his watch buckle.
He realised that he must get himself under some sort of command before he made a complete fool of himself. He snatched his hand away and took an unsteady step backwards, suddenly aware of how shallow his breathing was.
"Sorry." He said, somewhat sheepishly, unable to look at her again until he felt his pulse slow and his breathing return to normal.
"It's fine." Louisa replied quickly, feeling an intense stab of disappointment. By the look on Martin's face, and the distance that was now between them, it seemed unlikely now that he would volunteer to resume his rather pleasant and surprisingly effective massage of her tight and aching neck muscles. She noticed that he had his hands clasped in front of him, and was twisting the ring on his right hand around and around his finger, almost as if he were anxious or upset. She wanted to explain that it didn't matter and he hadn't really hurt her but she felt so tired, words failed her.
Briefly, Martin glanced at her and she managed to flash him what she hoped he'd realise was a grateful smile before a feeling of lightheadedness caused her to close her eyes. He looked back at her cautiously, unsure of what to make of a unusually mute Louisa, devoid of her usual feisty demeanour.
"Ummm, Have you eaten anything?" He asked gently. "Have you been able to keep anything down?"
"No. Haven't really felt like much." She mumbled, her eyes still closed.
"What about your fluid intake?"
"Okay." She said, gesturing wearily at her glass.
"Right, and can I ask when the last time was you had your Ferritin levels tested?"
There was a long pause.
"Umm, oh Martin, I don't know." She said with more than a hint of frustration in her voice.
"What do you mean, you don't know? Are we talking weeks, months, years?" Martin replied testily, instantly regretting his tone as Louisa raised an unsteady arm up to push her fringe from her eyes, fixing him with her well practiced, challenging stare, even though, today, it was somewhat tremulous and woebegone.
"Please, Martin, stop! It's just a headache alright?"
He cleared his throat and stood up straight, casting his eyes around the room uncomfortably. To call it a bedroom was to draw a long bow, it was a box room at best, built as it was, almost under the stairs. He noticed a shelf, sagging with the weight of the books piled upon it, and two haphazardly mounted speakers at just below his eye level. He followed the wires down the wall to a small stereo on the floor in the corner, a small stack of Compact Discs alongside it. The windowless wall was bare except for an unframed print; a naive rendition of the Cornish Coast that seemed somehow familiar. He inched his way along the narrow gap between the bed and dressing table that encroached slightly from under the stairs, so that he could examine it more closely.
"Alfred Wallis." She said quietly, watching him in profile as he gazed at the Port Ives print that she'd bought home in a little cardboard tube from the Tate not long after she arrived in London. It had always been somehow comforting, a small reminder of home.
He acknowledged her reply with an awkward affirmative grunt. He was disappointed that he'd made his frustration at her lack of self care so obvious as she was sure to Now be cross with him but he wondered if she had any concept of the perfect storm she'd created for herself. Stress, clearly but also muscle tension, probably due to poor posture while studying or the result of a ridiculous choice of footwear. No doubt her probable anaemia was a contributing factor too, dehydration perhaps, and he would also wager that she wasn't eating properly. Obviously, he probably should mention oestrogen too but, perhaps he might leave that for a different conversation. She'd tolerated his brief check up well enough but he needed to encourage her to go and see her own G.P and have a proper and thorough examination.
"What pain relief have you been taking?" He asked gently, endeavouring to keep his tone amenable.
She paused, closing her eyes briefly and putting her hands up to rub her temples.
"Umm, Libby normally has paracetamol but she ran out...I don't have anything really. Thought there might be some Asprin in the bathroom but I couldn't see any."
"Oh for goodness sake, Louisa." He said, sighing with irritation.
She looked back at him, somewhat shakily, with a mixture of embarrassment and defiance. Martin responded, haughtily, with rather a pointed glare of his own, determined to hold his ground and not to be the first to look away. Louisa may have always bested him when it came to pop stars and popular culture but medicine was his realm and he decided that it was time he took charge of the situation. She should have at least a basic first aid kit in the house, and some rudimentary medicines on hand.
"If you can manage, it would do you good to eat something." He said, trying to sound conciliatory.
Her expression softened and he was relieved to notice just a hint of a smile appear. Instantly, she looked less drained and there was almost a twinkle in her eyes, a reappearance of the mischievous sparkle that captivated him so. Her hair tousled and loose, fell around her bare neck and shoulders, and, as she clutched the sheets up over her chest, for a brief moment he was intensely aware that he was seeing her as he would if they were lovers. He felt a lurch in his abdomen that threatened to render useless all of his legendary aloof professionalism.
"Ummm, I can make you something if you like?" He suggested cautiously.
Louisa responded with a sad smile.
"It's a lovely thought but don't think there is actually anything to eat."
Martin frowned at her and began to edge his way toward the door.
"I will see what I can find." He replied, and disappeared.
The pokey kitchen proved just as aggravating. In the refrigerator Martin discovered a rancid looking knob of butter on a plate and a small quantity of milk. Most of the shelves were empty and, other than two bottles of wine, half a bottle of tonic water and a few poorly wrapped plates of food in the early stages of decomposition, it was bare. The cupboards were no better; cheap, highly processed, complex carbohydrates abounded alongside a few lonely tins of sardines.
He walked back to her room and stood grumpily in the doorway.
"How many of you live in this, ahh, flat, Louisa?" He asked, somewhat tersely.
She looked at him warily. "Ummm, four of us, five when Toni's boyfriend stayed."
"I see. So, between five adults, that's the best you can do? No fruit, no vegetables, no protein and a refrigerator potentially crawling with listeria. Well done."
In the gloom of her bedroom, with her mismatched bedding and propped up against a pile of thin pillows, Louisa looked stung. Ashen and defenceless, she stared back at him bleakly. He realised that, once again he'd probably been unnecessarily harsh when she was feeling too unwell to retaliate but, as usual, his frustration with people's inability to take even the most basic responsibility for their own health, had bubbled over. He sighed heavily.
"Right, well, I'm just going to pop out for a while because you need to eat, not least so you can take some pain relief." He said trying to modulate his displeasure at the circumstances he again found her living under.
"Martin, you really don't have to." She replied weakly but he sensed that she spoke out of politeness rather than conviction. He wondered when she'd last eaten properly.
"I am aware of that." He said, slowly and deliberately, staring at her reprovingly until she bit her lip and looked away.
"Thank you." She said softly, twisting at the edge of the counterpane she was wrapped in.
He could tell she was uncomfortable but he didn't care. He felt duty-bound to ensure she had at least one healthy and nutritious meal for the week, and that she had pain relief on hand. If he recalled correctly, there was a Sainsbury's not too far away. He turned impatiently on his heel, and grunted a curt farewell.
"Spare key under the mat, so you can let yourself back in." She called after him, and her voice was tremulous.
In horror, Martin paused briefly in the hall, before muttering an expletive under his breath, and shaking his head in disbelief at such an apparently careless and appallingly lax attitude to personal security, especially in a city such as this. Sighing heavily, he let himself out through the front door, and set off, determinedly, in search of the the supermarket.