1/1/11

Secrets I : Chapter 1 -3

Characters and scripts belong to Kudos Film and Television, and the BBC.













"I can't, Harry. I can't be talked about like that.
 I just...I can't stand it. Sorry."


CHAPTER ONE


His slippered feet made hardly a sound as he moved through his house. Tidying a table here, moving a newspaper there. He turned on the telly and made the rounds through the channels, but, as usual, nothing was on. After Scarlet was fed and fresh water was put down, there was nothing left to do. A try at a book yielded two pages read and no memory of their contents, so the book found its way back to the side table. A check of his mobile offered no relief, no distracting messages.
Much as he would like to put her out of his mind, it was impossible, so finally he just offered himself up to it. He poured himself a drink, and with a sigh of resignation, sat still and alone on the sofa, with a wish that the ache in his chest would soon go away.
He knows now that he loves her. Really knows it, beyond any doubt. The pain he saw in her face as she told him there were to be no more dinners, which then shut the door on everything else he had begun to hope, hovered now in front of him. And again, he knew that he was the cause of her pain. So many faces with that same look. Women, children, colleagues, friends, all stared back at him. All with the same look in their eyes. Why had he been the cause of so much pain to others, especially those he had no wish to hurt?
And her. Most especially her. That brightness in her that shone on everything she touched and every person she met. He had even managed to extinguish that light in her today. Instead, she stood, clearly uncomfortable, saying something she didn't want to say, the brightness gone. "People know. They're laughing about it." Her face, her voice, everything flat, no life in her eyes. And he was the cause, miserable man.
Now, in his maudlin mood, everything needed to be rewritten, every look re-examined. At their dinner, did she laugh? No, she actually looked sad, as he recalled it now. He had tried, in every way he could, to tell her how much he wanted this to be just the start. How much he wanted it to be her in the cafes and the museums. How the person she is, the unique and wonderful woman who now filled his thoughts, was the one he wanted to do everything with, not just The Grand Tour, but everything he could possibly imagine. He knew he had said it awkwardly, but at the time he'd managed to think she'd seen it as sweet, even charming.
But the napkin. He thought about the napkin now. The one that she held and folded and stared at, in what he saw as almost a coquettish way at the time. Why couldn't she meet his eyes? When he described her perfectly as his companion, even adding the clumsy clue about her being naive, why had she looked so unhappy? Oh, this isn't helping. The pain is getting worse, not better.
Another drink. Maybe just one more will make this easier. He rose to go to the bottle, and thought what a cliché he was. Bachelor, well-furnished house, and scotch. A world of memories and regrets and a cold, empty bed. As he poured out the amber liquid and took another long swallow, he felt the burn on his tongue, his throat, into his stomach. Yes, easier. Just a bit.
And after the dinner, when he had taken her home, she'd been as he expected. Shy, slightly nervous, fumbling with the keys to her house. He'd stood on her steps, watching her, wondering what it would be like to hear, "Do you want to come in, Harry?" Wondering about the tea that might follow, the tentative, self-conscious kiss that might lead to more. As he moved through these thoughts in the few seconds she adorably searched for her keys, he saw a whole life stretched out with them together.
When she turned, finally in possession of her house key, and said, "I had a good time, Harry. Thanks," it didn't matter that there was to be no tea and no kiss tonight, because he was sure it would come someday. When he said, "Would you like to do this again sometime?" she'd smiled that lovely off-centre smile of hers, and he thought he saw a faint blush come to her cheeks.
She hadn't answered him, though, had she? But she had leant up on an impulse, so quickly he hardly felt it, and kissed his cheek. Before he knew it, he was staring at her door, the faint, fresh scent of a garden, like new-mown grass, left hanging in the air where she had just been.
And he had walked, fool that he was, whistling to the car. Imagining a new life for himself. Imagining long, warm nights with her. As he drove, he'd held his hand to his cheek where her lips had been, like a teenager. He had smiled all the way home, and slept better than he had in years. All the screams, the gunshots, the deaths, the disappointments, the pain, had retreated for a time, and he felt fresh, and new, and less wounded.
She did that for him. And what did he do for her? Forced her into a stilted conversation, a refusal to see him again outside the Grid, and a desperately sad look as she left. Now, in his loneliness, all the moments he had imbued with meaning became an old man's wishful thinking. The squeeze of his arm, the touch of her hand on the bus, the looks he imagined he'd seen, were just the stuff of pathetic dreams. Get a bloody grip, Harry.
A final swallow drained the glass. Getting drunk might be the answer, but Harry knew all too well what came after that. Not a solution, just a postponement. He set the glass on the table next to the book, and closed his eyes, waiting. For what, he didn't know, maybe for the night to just close in and give him some blessed sleep.





Scarlet stood up on his lap, digging her little paws painfully into his thighs. When he managed to look at her, she was on full alert, shivering visibly, but focused unwaveringly on the front door. Harry sleepily rubbed his eyes, and involuntarily looked at his watch. 2:23. Years of training and reflexes had him up and prepared in a second.
"What, girl?" he whispered softly to Scarlet, almost expecting an answer. He put his fingers to his lips and shook his head at her. With a smile, he saw that it seemed she understood, and she moved quietly off the couch.
A soft knock. Harry realised that this was the second one. The first had roused Scarlet. "Hostile intruders don't generally knock," he whispered to her, although Scarlet was holding out judgment until she got more information. "Good little spook," he chuckled at her. Harry pulled the tie to his robe around him, and ran his fingers lightly through his hair before opening the door.
"Hello, Harry."
Was he dreaming? Hadn't he fully and finally let go of Ruth with his last swallow of scotch? She looked so small, like a bird that had flown to his front step, unable to go one more mile. It was cold outside, and as Scarlet shivered behind his legs, Ruth shivered in front of him. Harry felt a shiver too, but not from the cold. She looked so lost, so completely and utterly forlorn, that he wanted to fold her into his arms to warm her. But time was ticking by, and the cold was starting to come into the hall. Action was necessary.
"Ruth, come in. It's freezing out here." She seemed incapable of motion, so Harry gently took her arm and led her into the house. Anything he might normally have said to someone arriving on his doorstep at 2:30 in the morning seemed positively redundant. There was clearly something wrong, and she obviously was not okay. Her hair was endearingly dishevelled, and it appeared as if she had simply put on her slippers, shrugged on a coat over her pyjamas, and decided to pay him a visit in the middle of the night.
Her voice was thin, reedy. "Would you ask me that question again please, Harry?"
Harry frowned, confused. "What, Ruth? Come in? You want me to ask you to come in again?"
"No, the question you asked me in your office today." As Harry puzzled through this, he realised with gratitude that, although she looked very tired, her eyes were bright again. The dead look was gone, and he smiled slightly in spite of his confusion.
She continued, rooted to the spot where she stood in his hallway. "You said, 'Have you thought any more about ... '" she started, as if she were reciting a lesson in school.
Harry felt as if he were talking to a child, but couldn't help his tone. She seemed fragile, as if she might break if he spoke too forcefully. "Yes, I was asking if you wanted to have dinner with me again."
Now she smiled. That wonderful, bright, Ruth smile. "Yes, that question. I'd like to give you a different answer, if I still can." She seemed to gain strength from his understanding of the problem, as if she were glad she didn't have to explain herself to him.
Harry waited for her to continue, but she simply stood looking at him, her face open and so beautiful with no makeup and the flush of the cold on her cheeks. He realised she was waiting for him to say it.
"Ah, yes, well. " His tone became slightly formal, but with a tinge of the amusement he was beginning to feel. "Ruth, would you like to have dinner with me again?"
"Yes, Harry. Very much." Now she moved closer to him, shy but firm, and whispered. "But we're going to have to be careful, because they're laughing about us on the Grid." She smiled up at Harry, and now he saw the subtle but unmistakable twinkle. It took every ounce of strength he had not to simply lean down and kiss her.
With mock seriousness, Harry said, "Why do you think they're laughing at us, Ruth?"
She saw the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, and moved closer still. She whispered. "I think it's because they're jealous."
"And you came to that conclusion at 2:30 in the morning?"
"No, I came to that conclusion about five minutes after I walked dramatically out of your office. I've been thinking about it until 2:30 in the morning, Harry." Ruth looked down at her hands. "And I realised I was having a sleepless night about people laughing at us, even if you wouldn't, so I thought I'd try it your way."
Harry's heart expanded slightly, and he needed to take a deep breath to give it room in his chest. He was aware that it had grown due to the addition of hope, which was flooding back into him. He saw that Ruth was happy, and this time, it was becauseof him. Not pain, not sadness. He caused her to feel happy. And now, he couldn't stop himself, although he felt the need still to be a gentleman about it. They were, after all, in a rather improper state of dress, and it was, in fact, either very early or very late. He was also, he remembered, her boss. And they were, finally, in his house.
He moved gently to close the space between them, and brought his hand up to touch her cheek, speaking very softly. "I know this is a little past asking you to dinner, Ruth, but would you mind terribly if I kissed you? I'm not sure I'll be able to prevent it." Harry could hear his own heart, and was certain Ruth could, too. At the very least, she should be able to see it in the veins in his neck, where her gaze was firmly held. It seemed an age before she answered him, but he waited patiently for her to speak.
Ruth smiled shyly, as pink suffused her cheeks. She glanced up to meet his eye, and Harry could see in her face that she was no longer the fragile little bird. It was as if he had sent all his strength to her, and now he was the one in danger of breaking.
Finally, she spoke. "I want you to, Harry. But I need you to understand. I want very much to find out where this leads, but I can't stand the gossip, really." She swallowed, and looked at him earnestly. "Will you be able to do this? Can you keep it just between us? No sly looks on the Grid, Harry. No juvenile notes passed back and forth. A real, honest-to-God secret."
"Yes." There was no hesitation. She might just as well have asked him if he would leap from the roof of Thames House at this point. His judgment had been seriously compromised, and he needed very badly to kiss her. "Yes, Ruth, I can."
His part of the contract fulfilled, he bent his mouth to hers as slowly as he could bear. How many times had he watched her lips as she spoke in the briefing room, those sweet, full lips incongruously speaking of bombs, and cells, and the history of terror. Now they were soft, and yielding, and seemed only made for this. As Ruth let out a tender sigh, he thought to part his lips slightly and deepen the kiss, but a feeling quickened in him. Not fear, but patience, the sense that there would be time for more, and they might not need more than this for now.
As he pulled gently away, he let his lips graze Ruth's cheek, her eyelids, her hair. He smiled as he saw that her eyes were still closed. She could have been asleep and dreaming, but for the light sounds she made. He clasped his arms completely around her, bringing her to rest against him. Holding her, Harry marvelled at how they fit together, like two puzzle pieces, positive and negative spaces meeting perfectly. So right, this feeling, as if he'd found the other half of himself. She snuggled into the warmth of his robe, circling her arms around him, and together they stood, her exhale matching his inhale, and then reversed, as if they were breathing for each other.
Ruth stirred then. Obviously, her brain had re-engaged after the brief holiday in his arms. Her voice was muffled in his robe, but distinguishable. "That was awfully fast, Harry. Your answer to that question? Are you sure you weren't just saying it because you wanted to kiss me?"
He had already forgotten the subject of this conversation and needed a refresher. "Saying what, Ruth?" he murmured against her hair.
She pulled away and looked him in the eyes. "About the secret, Harry. About keeping our secret." She tilted her head in warning. "I really mean it."
Harry chuckled softly. "Yes, Ruth, and I happen to agree with you." He brushed his lips across her cheek again, relishing the softness there as he spoke. "It also sounds like fun. Secrets can be a bit wicked, can't they?"
Ruth nuzzled into his neck, smiling. "Yes, Harry, a bit wicked. But will we be able to do it?"
Travelling from her cheek to her mouth, Harry whispered his next words against her lips. "Have you forgotten? We're spooks."

~~~~~





CHAPTER TWO


Again, Harry walked, yes, fool that I am, whistling to the car. But as he strode away from Ruth's front door this time, he had the memory of a long, lingering kiss with the woman he loved, dressed beguilingly in coat and pyjamas, fuzzy slippers, and a soft, sweet smile.
As he closed the car door he looked at his watch again. 5:47 a.m. But Harry wasn't tired, and he knew that his bed would not be slept in tonight, or rather today. His few hours of sleep perched on the sofa would be enough for him. He would go back home, take a shower, grab a cinnamon latte and croissant on the way to work, and get to the Grid a bit early.
Some time later, Ruth would enter from the pods and go to her station. He would look up through the glass and watch her, as he was fond of doing lately. She would simultaneously stow her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk, switch on her computer and monitor, pull pens and notebook from their place in the stand behind her and situate herself in her chair. All in a symphony of multi-tasking that was effortless in its efficiency, as beautiful to him as a ballet.
She always checked to see if he was in his office, and today would be no different. Nonchalantly, casually, as if the outcome of that look had no bearing on her happiness. As if his presence or lack of it meant nothing to her. But she always looked, and yes, there it was now. As always, he managed to avert his eyes in just the split second before she would have seen him, to some particularly fascinating file on his desk. Or if dangerously close, to nothing at all on his desk before he searched out the blue glow of his computer screen.
But today was as different from yesterday as it could possibly be, as if worlds had collided in the night. Today held a level of potential that hadn't existed yesterday when they performed this very same dance together. Today they knew the feel of each other's lips, the warmth of breath exhaled softly on each other's cheeks as they kissed. Today they knew the contours, the landscape of each other's held bodies, fully clothed, chastely held, but still vividly remembered.
Each one had a heart beating wildly in their chest as they performed the ritual on this morning, and not a soul on the the Grid would see that anything was different. Both had their training. Harry and Ruth knew that when you find yourself on new ground, you fall back on the basics, on what you know. So they followed the script more exactly than ever before.
What had passed between them last night was an understanding that they held a hope for the future. No words of love were spoken, although each suspected that love was also what the other felt. No promises were made, but a space was opened up where promises were possible. Each felt, wordlessly, that the strides they had made through the honesty and vulnerability of those tender kisses was more than enough progress for one night. And there they had left it.
They had pledged to put even more distance between them on the Grid to quell the rumours. Away from the Grid, they would try to allow their time together to flow naturally, taking one day at a time.
The next date would be in a couple of days, once Harry had put the fear of a new post in Northern Ireland in his Security Officer, Jeffrey. No one else knew about his dinner with Ruth, so it hadn't taken Harry long to work out where the leak had occurred. Jeffrey was a good man, loyal and competent. He just needed to be soundly convinced that silence was a requirement of the job, off and on the Grid.
Harry played a game with himself, I'll wait five minutes before I turn to look at her, and when the five minute mark was reached he increased it to ten, and so on. Finally, at 30 minutes, he gave himself permission to look away from his screen and casually scan the Grid beyond his glass enclosure. Malcolm stood behind Ruth, and both were looking at her computer screen. She was excited about whatever it was that she was showing Malcolm, and Harry knew it was another piece of information she had mined, another impossible challenge met. She was, after all, the best Intelligence Analyst he'd ever known, and that was over and above the fact that he loved her.
Harry looked back at his own computer screen and pretended to be reading the file there. What he was really doing was calculating. The number of women he'd loved, he could count on one hand. Whilst holding a cup of tea, Harry thought ruefully, lessening the number still further. The women he'd known, aside from Jane, of course, and in her own way, Juliet, had never really found their way into his heart. Those who had wanted him either fell in love with whatever legend he was sporting at the time, or worse, felt that they could change him. Either way, they were chasing a ghost.
Ruth already knew more about him than any woman he'd ever known. And they had only kissed. Harry reached a hand up to cover the involuntary smile that spread to the corners of his mouth. His fingers touched his lips, the place where her lips had been, what, five hours ago? He narrowed his eyes in lieu of closing them completely, and put himself, body and soul, back in her arms. Can I do this? Yes. I can do anything now.

~~~~~~

The drive was lovely. Ruth trailed her hand out the window, feeling the pressure of the oncoming air, slightly chilly but refreshing and clean. Harry had put in a CD of some symphony or other, and the sound of the violins was moving toward crescendo as the trees flew by, blurry with speed. Her head leant back on the leather rest, and she felt in more ways than one that she was on a rollercoaster, flying wildly and trusting that the wheels would stay safely on the tracks.
Since that night at Harry's house, nothing, and paradoxically, everything, had seemed the same.
Ruth had only toyed with legends, uncomplicated ones, for short periods of time. She'd never given herself over wholly to a double life, being someone in public that bore only a passing resemblance to the person that spoke in her head. But this must be what it's like, she thought. You move through the interaction with other people thinking, don't you know what's really going on here?Ruth was more convinced than ever that we don't truly know the people around us. Everyone has their secrets.
She and Harry had waited five days to see each other outside of the Grid again. Harry had spoken with Jeffrey, who was suitably contrite, confessing that he had talked with Jo at the water cooler. He'd admitted that he wanted a date with the pretty blonde, and thought the information would impress her. Her reaction surpassed his wildest dreams, and Jeffrey got caught up in it. He'd learnt his lesson. Harry told him, "You are now in my confidence, Jeffrey, and that is sacred ground. Don't disappoint me." One need only hear that once from Harry Pearce. Ruth knew that tone of voice, and it was enough to make your blood run cold. She was no longer worried about Jeffrey.
Ruth had to admit that the five days had been good for them. They had both leapt into the deep end of the pool, and needed time to take a breath. Both were naturally cautious, and she felt from Harry the same thing she felt, an almost incredulous wonder about their sudden prominent place in each other's worlds. She knew his thoughts were as filled with her as hers were of him. She could triangulate his position on the Grid at any point in time, as he could with her. They did it silently, through telepathy, while speaking to each other on topics as banal as terabytes, and as devastating as terrorism.
Her head facing out toward the trees, Ruth smiled. She couldn't feel more connected to Harry, and so far, they had only kissed. Three distinct times in Harry's house that night. Although it is hard to count when one blends into another and another. Once on her doorstep when he said goodnight. Maybe I would call that one two. Then a quick brush of the lips when he picked her up for lunch today. Saturday, and all the turmoil in the world seemed to have taken a break just for them.
Harry hadn't told her where they were going. He'd said he wanted to surprise her. They had driven out of London going west, that's all she knew, and that's all she cared to know. She was with him, they were alone, and she could let the double life go for an afternoon. The buildings had gotten smaller, the road narrower, the trees more abundant, and now they were in the country. It was getting close to one o'clock, and her stomach growled in protest.
Ruth swivelled on the headrest, turning to face him. She smiled. He was still Harry, but a different Harry. Harry with an open collared blue shirt, deep blue like the sky that peeked down through the trees. The white, starched shirt of the Grid, buttoned-up, tie-perfectly-in-place Harry was taking the day off. The one she had here was Henry James Pearce, who was a boy who played with his mates in the streets of Reading, Berkshire. This one wore his favourite soft black jeans, and didn't have to save the world today.
"I'm hungry." She smiled at him with her head still leant back.
"Patience, Ruth. It will be worth it. The best things are worth waiting for." Was it her imagination, or did everything they said to each other now have a deeper meaning? He looked over at her for as long as the road would safely allow, and his eyes were soft. When he turned back to drive, she saw the hint of a contented smile that told her he was happy just to be here with her.
"That's good advice, Harry. Thank you." She said it without sarcasm, and she meant it entirely. He stole a look at her and saw the same soft smile from her. Then her stomach rumbled again, and this time, they both heard it. Ruth clapped her hands down to her middle, laughing. "Tell that to my appetite!" Harry laughed too, an open, throaty laugh. The one that belonged to Henry James Pearce before he saw so much of the world.
The Brasserie Gerard was attached to a small hotel in Henley-on-Thames, which seemed far removed from London. The tables and chairs were set out on the pavement, with blue umbrellas the colour of Harry's shirt. The sun was shining, and people strolled lazily by with packages. Ruth wouldn't have been surprised to see a horse and carriage clatter by.
The scene was not lost on Ruth, who gazed at Harry from under her lashes once they were seated. "The Grand Tour, Harry? Where are we? Rome? Paris?"
He just smiled back at her. "It's not New York, but I thought you might like it." He pulled the white napkin from the water glass and moved it to his lap. "It has a hotel attached."
He'd mentioned it only because he thought she'd find it interesting, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth Harry regretted them and his face showed it. Just a split second of lost composure, and Ruth's eyes widened. "A hotel? Ah. Yes." Her face was unreadable to him, but he assumed he knew what she was thinking.
His discomfort made his voice slightly strident. "And tell me why are we assuming that I am the one who is so overcome with passion that I must seduce you?"
Now Ruth smiled. She was enjoying this. "Because you were the one the other night who had to kiss me, Harry. I was still having a reasonable discussion with you."
Harry sighed in relief, seeing that this was play. His smile was teasing. "I seem to recall that someone else was involved in that kiss. Maybe I should be guarding my innocence, Ruth."
"Innocence?" Ruth's eyes widened still further. "Oh, Harry, we probably shouldn't move onto that topic." She was still smiling, but in the tilt of her head, Harry felt his warning system begin to sound. Wanting to change the subject quickly, he picked up his coffee cup to have a sip. "Saw this place in a travel guide once, always wanted to come here … "
"What happened between you and Juliet?"
One more centimetre, and Harry's coffee would have been in his lap. Lucky for him, he was able to pull the cup back in time.
"Uh, pardon?"
"Well, clearly there's something between you. I am an Intelligence Analyst, you know. I analyse things. It's not always just data, Harry."
"What makes you think there's something between us?"
"Stalling tactic, Harry. Ask the questioner a question. I won't bite." Ruth took a sip of her tea, and smiled at him over the rim of the cup. "You're here with me, and she's not sitting between us, so I suppose I have the upper hand for now."
Harry laughed. How he loved this woman. So few people could put him completely off his feet, and she did it routinely. But from the moment he had committed to making a place for Ruth in his life, he had committed to the truth. There was nothing he would keep from her if she asked. And she was asking.
"It was a long time ago, Ruth. Ancient history, really. We were working together … "
Ruth stopped him, gently. "I've read the file, Harry. I know where you were and what you were doing. I know she was married and so were you." She looked down at her plate. "I want to know if the tension I feel between you comes from the fact that you still care for her. Because I think she still cares for you. A great deal."
Harry almost laughed again, and would have, if Ruth hadn't been so grave. My life is turning back on itself, he thought in amazement, as a phrase with the words, skating, thin, and ice crossed his mind. Women have bloody x-ray vision, especially in matters of the heart. And they simply blurt it out in the most astonishing ways! He needed time to think about how to respond to this. He and Ruth were still tiptoeing around their feelings. The last thing he wanted to do was fall face first into this one.
He spoke lightly as he ventured another sip from his coffee cup. "You should thank Juliet, you know."
Ruth finally smiled at this. "Oh, I can't wait to hear why."
Harry put down his cup and took her hand across the starched white tablecloth. His voice was soft, low and affectionate. "She's the one who told me I shouldn't let you pass me by."
Ruth sighed. How does he do it? One minute I'm interrogating him, the next he can have me for a shilling. Her voice sounded tiny inside her head, but she tried to sound confident and flip. "Juliet? Really? I'll have to send her a thank you note."
Harry was smiling at her, his look inscrutable. Ruth thought suddenly that it looked just like love, and a tingle started at the back of her neck, right at the hairline. She imagined herself returning the look, and saying it, right now. I love you, Harry.
He was still holding her hand, his thumb gently stroking hers. The street seemed to go silent, even the pedestrians moved in slow motion. Their eyes were locked, and Ruth realised that the rest of his face was blurred, only his eyes in perfect focus, brown and soft and bottomless. She imagined leaping off the precipice, her mouth opening to say the words …
"The Salade Nicoise?"
Ruth's salad was placed in front of her. His hand moved away, the noise began again on the street, and Ruth stepped back on to solid ground, a little breathless. The voice inside her, the one that kept her life safe and uncomplicated, spoke firmly. That was a close one.
Harry's Sole Meuniere was delivered, and Ruth took a bite of her salad. "Ummm, delicious. Good choice of restaurant, Harry." After a moment, she rested her hand on the table. "But you never answered my question."
He looked up at her, pursing his lips. "Yes, I know. I was thinking you'd forgotten it."
"Hoping I'd forgotten it?"
Harry put down his fork. "No, not hoping. I want to tell you everything you want to know, Ruth." He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "I will always be honest with you. You and I have spent far too much time already in withholding things from each other." He sat back in his chair. "You want to know if I am in love with Juliet Shaw? Absolutely not. Was I ever?" Harry moved forward to rest his arms on the table on either side of his plate. "Who knows?"
He reached out to Ruth's hand. "I might have thought I was, once. But it has to be measured, Ruth, and at that age I didn't have all the information I needed to know if it was really love." He stroked her hand, and he was so close to saying it. I know I love you, Ruth. I know that now. But something told him it was too soon, they were too new together. He didn't want to frighten her. He didn't want to frighten himself. They needed to experience and enjoy this, whatever this was, today.
"Thank you, Harry." When she looked up from gazing at their hands, she had tears in her eyes. Harry took a corner of his napkin and touched it to her cheek to catch the one that threatened to fall.
"I'm available, Ruth. Completely and utterly available." She pulled his hand toward her and kissed it, gently, without saying a word.

~~~~~~



CHAPTER THREE



The drive was lovely. Ruth trailed her hand out the window, feeling the pressure of the oncoming air, slightly chilly but refreshing and clean. Harry had put in a CD of some symphony or other, and the sound of the violins was moving toward crescendo as the trees flew by, blurry with speed. Her head leant back on the leather rest, and she felt in more ways than one that she was on a rollercoaster, flying wildly and trusting that the wheels would stay safely on the tracks.
Since that night at Harry's house, nothing, and paradoxically, everything, had seemed the same.
Ruth had only toyed with legends, uncomplicated ones, for short periods of time. She'd never given herself over wholly to a double life, being someone in public that bore only a passing resemblance to the person that spoke in her head. But this must be what it's like, she thought. You move through the interaction with other people thinking, don't you know what's really going on here?Ruth was more convinced than ever that we don't truly know the people around us. Everyone has their secrets.
She and Harry had waited five days to see each other outside of the Grid again. Harry had spoken with Jeffrey, who was suitably contrite, confessing that he had talked with Jo at the water cooler. He'd admitted that he wanted a date with the pretty blonde, and thought the information would impress her. Her reaction surpassed his wildest dreams, and Jeffrey got caught up in it. He'd learnt his lesson. Harry told him, "You are now in my confidence, Jeffrey, and that is sacred ground. Don't disappoint me." One need only hear that once from Harry Pearce. Ruth knew that tone of voice, and it was enough to make your blood run cold. She was no longer worried about Jeffrey.
Ruth had to admit that the five days had been good for them. They had both leapt into the deep end of the pool, and needed time to take a breath. Both were naturally cautious, and she felt from Harry the same thing she felt, an almost incredulous wonder about their sudden prominent place in each other's worlds. She knew his thoughts were as filled with her as hers were of him. She could triangulate his position on the Grid at any point in time, as he could with her. They did it silently, through telepathy, while speaking to each other on topics as banal as terabytes, and as devastating as terrorism.
Her head facing out toward the trees, Ruth smiled. She couldn't feel more connected to Harry, and so far, they had only kissed. Three distinct times in Harry's house that night. Although it is hard to count when one blends into another and another. Once on her doorstep when he said goodnight. Maybe I would call that one two. Then a quick brush of the lips when he picked her up for lunch today. Saturday, and all the turmoil in the world seemed to have taken a break just for them.
Harry hadn't told her where they were going. He'd said he wanted to surprise her. They had driven out of London going west, that's all she knew, and that's all she cared to know. She was with him, they were alone, and she could let the double life go for an afternoon. The buildings had gotten smaller, the road narrower, the trees more abundant, and now they were in the country. It was getting close to one o'clock, and her stomach growled in protest.
Ruth swivelled on the headrest, turning to face him. She smiled. He was still Harry, but a different Harry. Harry with an open collared blue shirt, deep blue like the sky that peeked down through the trees. The white, starched shirt of the Grid, buttoned-up, tie-perfectly-in-place Harry was taking the day off. The one she had here was Henry James Pearce, who was a boy who played with his mates in the streets of Reading, Berkshire. This one wore his favourite soft black jeans, and didn't have to save the world today.
"I'm hungry." She smiled at him with her head still leant back.
"Patience, Ruth. It will be worth it. The best things are worth waiting for." Was it her imagination, or did everything they said to each other now have a deeper meaning? He looked over at her for as long as the road would safely allow, and his eyes were soft. When he turned back to drive, she saw the hint of a contented smile that told her he was happy just to be here with her.
"That's good advice, Harry. Thank you." She said it without sarcasm, and she meant it entirely. He stole a look at her and saw the same soft smile from her. Then her stomach rumbled again, and this time, they both heard it. Ruth clapped her hands down to her middle, laughing. "Tell that to my appetite!" Harry laughed too, an open, throaty laugh. The one that belonged to Henry James Pearce before he saw so much of the world.
The Brasserie Gerard was attached to a small hotel in Henley-on-Thames, which seemed far removed from London. The tables and chairs were set out on the pavement, with blue umbrellas the colour of Harry's shirt. The sun was shining, and people strolled lazily by with packages. Ruth wouldn't have been surprised to see a horse and carriage clatter by.
The scene was not lost on Ruth, who gazed at Harry from under her lashes once they were seated. "The Grand Tour, Harry? Where are we? Rome? Paris?"
He just smiled back at her. "It's not New York, but I thought you might like it." He pulled the white napkin from the water glass and moved it to his lap. "It has a hotel attached."
He'd mentioned it only because he thought she'd find it interesting, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth Harry regretted them and his face showed it. Just a split second of lost composure, and Ruth's eyes widened. "A hotel? Ah. Yes." Her face was unreadable to him, but he assumed he knew what she was thinking.
His discomfort made his voice slightly strident. "And tell me why are we assuming that I am the one who is so overcome with passion that I must seduce you?"
Now Ruth smiled. She was enjoying this. "Because you were the one the other night who had to kiss me, Harry. I was still having a reasonable discussion with you."
Harry sighed in relief, seeing that this was play. His smile was teasing. "I seem to recall that someone else was involved in that kiss. Maybe I should be guarding my innocence, Ruth."
"Innocence?" Ruth's eyes widened still further. "Oh, Harry, we probably shouldn't move onto that topic." She was still smiling, but in the tilt of her head, Harry felt his warning system begin to sound. Wanting to change the subject quickly, he picked up his coffee cup to have a sip. "Saw this place in a travel guide once, always wanted to come here … "
"What happened between you and Juliet?"
One more centimetre, and Harry's coffee would have been in his lap. Lucky for him, he was able to pull the cup back in time.
"Uh, pardon?"
"Well, clearly there's something between you. I am an Intelligence Analyst, you know. I analyse things. It's not always just data, Harry."
"What makes you think there's something between us?"
"Stalling tactic, Harry. Ask the questioner a question. I won't bite." Ruth took a sip of her tea, and smiled at him over the rim of the cup. "You're here with me, and she's not sitting between us, so I suppose I have the upper hand for now."
Harry laughed. How he loved this woman. So few people could put him completely off his feet, and she did it routinely. But from the moment he had committed to making a place for Ruth in his life, he had committed to the truth. There was nothing he would keep from her if she asked. And she was asking.
"It was a long time ago, Ruth. Ancient history, really. We were working together … "
Ruth stopped him, gently. "I've read the file, Harry. I know where you were and what you were doing. I know she was married and so were you." She looked down at her plate. "I want to know if the tension I feel between you comes from the fact that you still care for her. Because I think she still cares for you. A great deal."
Harry almost laughed again, and would have, if Ruth hadn't been so grave. My life is turning back on itself, he thought in amazement, as a phrase with the words, skating, thin, and ice crossed his mind. Women have bloody x-ray vision, especially in matters of the heart. And they simply blurt it out in the most astonishing ways! He needed time to think about how to respond to this. He and Ruth were still tiptoeing around their feelings. The last thing he wanted to do was fall face first into this one.
He spoke lightly as he ventured another sip from his coffee cup. "You should thank Juliet, you know."
Ruth finally smiled at this. "Oh, I can't wait to hear why."
Harry put down his cup and took her hand across the starched white tablecloth. His voice was soft, low and affectionate. "She's the one who told me I shouldn't let you pass me by."
Ruth sighed. How does he do it? One minute I'm interrogating him, the next he can have me for a shilling. Her voice sounded tiny inside her head, but she tried to sound confident and flip. "Juliet? Really? I'll have to send her a thank you note."
Harry was smiling at her, his look inscrutable. Ruth thought suddenly that it looked just like love, and a tingle started at the back of her neck, right at the hairline. She imagined herself returning the look, and saying it, right now. I love you, Harry.
He was still holding her hand, his thumb gently stroking hers. The street seemed to go silent, even the pedestrians moved in slow motion. Their eyes were locked, and Ruth realised that the rest of his face was blurred, only his eyes in perfect focus, brown and soft and bottomless. She imagined leaping off the precipice, her mouth opening to say the words …
"The Salade Nicoise?"
Ruth's salad was placed in front of her. His hand moved away, the noise began again on the street, and Ruth stepped back on to solid ground, a little breathless. The voice inside her, the one that kept her life safe and uncomplicated, spoke firmly. That was a close one.
Harry's Sole Meuniere was delivered, and Ruth took a bite of her salad. "Ummm, delicious. Good choice of restaurant, Harry." After a moment, she rested her hand on the table. "But you never answered my question."
He looked up at her, pursing his lips. "Yes, I know. I was thinking you'd forgotten it."
"Hoping I'd forgotten it?"
Harry put down his fork. "No, not hoping. I want to tell you everything you want to know, Ruth." He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "I will always be honest with you. You and I have spent far too much time already in withholding things from each other." He sat back in his chair. "You want to know if I am in love with Juliet Shaw? Absolutely not. Was I ever?" Harry moved forward to rest his arms on the table on either side of his plate. "Who knows?"
He reached out to Ruth's hand. "I might have thought I was, once. But it has to be measured, Ruth, and at that age I didn't have all the information I needed to know if it was really love." He stroked her hand, and he was so close to saying it. I know I love you, Ruth. I know that now. But something told him it was too soon, they were too new together. He didn't want to frighten her. He didn't want to frighten himself. They needed to experience and enjoy this, whatever this was, today.
"Thank you, Harry." When she looked up from gazing at their hands, she had tears in her eyes. Harry took a corner of his napkin and touched it to her cheek to catch the one that threatened to fall.
"I'm available, Ruth. Completely and utterly available." She pulled his hand toward her and kissed it, gently, without saying a word.

~~~~~~