CHAPTER THIRTEEN
At a little after 4 a.m., Harry's phone buzzed next to his head again. This time, one short buzz. He opened it, and the glow from the screen blinded him for just a moment, the moon having already made her path across the sky. It was a text from Adam. "DC call to Styles, encrypted, but may be good news." He knew what Adam meant by it. If Styles was getting a call at this hour, it probably meant that someone in Washington, DC was forcing him to back down and sign the agreement today.
There was a double feeling of relief for Harry. First of all, the Summit might be drawing to a successful close, but secondly, that this was only a text message. If the phone had actually forwarded to Malcolm, if there had been a crisis, this would be a very different moment for him. He saw now, in his less exhausted state, that he probably shouldn't have spent the night here with Ruth. And at the same time, he was very glad he had.
All he had known last night was that he wanted to be with her. Wanted to fall asleep next to her, and wake with her in the morning. Anything else was on the periphery, including the microscopic fact that he was the Head of MI5 and they were in the middle of an operation. Now he knew he should go.
Harry was fully awake now, and the six good hours of sleep he'd been given had done the trick. He rolled over and looked at Ruth, his eyes now adjusted to the dark. She was facing him, and had heard his mobile buzz. She, too, was awake.
"Do you need me?" She was asking him if she should get up and be ready to work, but Harry smiled across at her.
"More than you know."
Ruth smiled now too, a sleepy smile. "Harry, you're such a lovely romantic. That's a very sweet thing to hear."
He moved closer and put his arms around her, loving the warmth and softness that emanated from her body. "And true, Ruth." She snuggled closer, until they were face to face in an embrace. Suddenly, Harry was very aware of what he was doing, and his rested body was beginning to make him aware that this was not a very good idea. But he didn't want to let her go.
Ruth still held him, her head buried in his shoulder where she could feel his arm, the muscles of it, through the thin t-shirt. Her hand was on his upper arm, just below the hem of the sleeve, and she touched bare flesh, the pads of her fingertips moving lightly there. Harry's hand was on the back of her head, gently stroking her hair. She could hear his heart, and just as she realised her own heart was beating faster, she felt his begin to speed, too.
"Harry." It was all she needed to say. She felt him tense slightly, but he didn't move or let go.
"I know. But you feel so good." He tightened his arms around her just a little. He was concentrating on imagining the contour of her body, the shape of it, just by the pressure he felt on his own. At his chest, he felt her softness, the distinct force there where her breasts rose and fell. The cup of the small of her back where his hand now trailed, where the t-shirt had moved up in sleep, above the silk, where he found bare skin.
The casualness of the cotton that separated them, the delicious warmth of sleep, the profound love that was so new yet so familiar; all of these things seemed to make these precious moments together less about sex and more about tenderness, about a deeper knowing. Harry was exploring, on a fact-finding mission, trying to discover his limits in this very pleasant place with Ruth. But he was, after all, a man. And it had been a long time for him. He knew it could become about sex in a split second.
They were both feeling it now. Both were under control, and neither wanted it to end, but they were on the edge. Ruth felt a challenge from him to stay there, and she felt she stood with toes just over the cliff, tingling, keeping her balance. She moved one leg slowly between his, and curled her heel around his calf. She felt the smooth skin there, the silky hair of his legs. Now they had skin caressing skin under the warm softness of the sheets. And it had moved her closer to him, so as he felt her contours, she felt his, lower, the pressure that told her his exhaustion had left him.
"Harry?" This time it was a question, whispered with a sigh into his shoulder. "We could, but do we want to?" He was grateful to her for voicing it, for putting words to his thoughts. He could get a call any minute, and there were things going on that needed his attention. He never wanted to leave this warm, wonderful place. And he had to.
Still he didn't move, but he murmured into her hair. "Oh, I want it, Ruth. But I want it in a different place, at a different time." He paused, and then said, lower, "A time very soon." Ruth giggled just a bit at this, and even that slight movement was exquisite torture for him.
Reluctantly, Ruth unsnuggled and moved away from Harry. There was space between them now, and yes, she thought, it was still charged with their heat. She smiled at him from across the bed. "You may not know it, but you've just given your analyst an assignment. We'll be finished tomorrow, correct?"
Smiling at her, Harry's eyes danced. "Yes."
"Well, Harry, your assignment is to get the world to stop turning around you for a week-end. Just one week-end. It can bloody well do without you."
"Which week-end?"
"This one, starting Friday."
He chuckled softly, his voice going lower still, "Oh, that is good. That's very soon."
She felt safe enough now to move back toward him. Pulling her length against his, she kissed him, holding him tightly to her. She sighed against his lips, softly, "You find the way, Harry. I'll find the place. And I promise you, we won't stop."
Ruth's words, and the seductive way she had spoken them, had an immediate effect on Harry. "If I don't get out of this bed this second, plans won't be necessary." He laughed agonisingly, "Oh, Christ, this is hard to do … " He kissed her on the forehead quickly, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up and exhaling deeply. He sat there for a moment, sighing, while Ruth smiled and rubbed his back, still lying with her head on the pillow.
He reached around and took her hand, kissing it. "What have you done to me?"
Ruth sat up and put both arms around him, leaning her head on his back. "Not nearly enough, yet, Harry."
He laughed, and she could feel it vibrate through him, as he shook his head. "Still waters run deep, my Ruth. I have seriously underestimated you. At my own peril." He stood up and pulled on his jeans, firmly getting the zip in place before turning and bending to kiss her.
He nuzzled her neck gently, then pulled away and looked at her somewhat gravely. "Tonight we spend alone, I think? We're on dangerous ground here, in more ways than one."
She smiled up at him. "You have a very level head, Harry Pearce. I will make do with the Italian Trade Minister, then."
"Bad girl," he said as he kissed her, smiling. "I am just down the hall. Don't forget that."
Ruth's eyes were soft, full of love. "Never."
He slipped out the door quietly. Ruth snuggled luxuriously back into the pillows and started planning.
Havensworth, day three, and Ruth sat at the laptop watching with held breath as all the delegates filed into the negotiation room. She spoke into her headset, "They're all there. Harry, I think we've done it. They're going to sign." Just then, across her screen, a red call. Her heart fell. They were so close.
Moments later, Harry came through the door. "Why was I red-called?" She couldn't help herself, she found herself thinking she was so glad he'd gotten some sleep. He seemed rested, ready to face whatever was coming.
Jo patched through an intercepted call. A voice in African accents said, "We shall prepare for an immediate seizure of power. If the Havensworth Operation is successful and Sekoa dead, there will be no way to stop us."
"The Havensworth Operation." Harry's words sent a chill through all of them, and from that point on, there was no time to be thinking of anything else. Ruth was put to the task of researching all staff in the hotel. Harry went out the door to call a recess and talk to Foreign Secretary Allen.
Some time later, Harry came back in to the command centre. Ruth was alone there. Harry asked about the man whose voice they'd heard on the intercepted call. "Any news from MI-6 on Kabate?"
"No." But Ruth had made a discovery, and needed to tell him about it. "Harry, I need to speak with you."
He was already on his mobile again. "Is the complex fully secure?" He shut his phone, and looked back at Ruth. "You were saying?"
"I think there's a connection between Styles and the assassination." His phone rang again, and he picked up. Ruth waited, nervously, until he was finished. Finally, he turned to her.
"What connection?"
She explained that she had found a file on West Monrassa, but couldn't open it. Harry came around behind her and looked on her computer screen at what she was showing him. Ruth told him, "We need Styles to go back online so we can complete the download."
"Then find a way to make that happen." Harry started to walk away, but then turned back, realising that in his hurry he was barking orders at her. He moved his hand toward hers, and, concealed within the folds of her skirt he entwined their fingers. "Alone?" he asked.
She smiled. "Yes."
"Surveillance?" he asked her, with a look that acknowledged that he perhaps should have been paying more attention to Malcolm's briefing about the location of the cameras.
"Not right here," she whispered.
He moved closer to her and brushed his lips across her cheek before putting his mouth to her ear. "I don't know what I'd do without you. You are a marvel. And I thank you for being here." With that, he was off and out the door again.
The rest of the day taxed every resource Harry and Ruth had in their arsenal. Foreign Secretary Allen ignored Harry's order for no press conference, and an assassination attempt was barely thwarted there. Sekoa filed an official complaint of harassment against Adam, and subsequently, Harry was ordered to disband the MI5 presence at Havensworth. In between, Ruth was asked to garner information that she could only get by using her wits and a talent for the dramatic, which again surprised Harry.
Finally, everyone found their way to their beds, and the hotel quieted. Ruth couldn't wait to get to her room and lounge in a hot bubble bath. After a time, she towelled off, dressed again, and thought she would go down to the command centre to do some more research into places she could take Harry for the week-end. As she was moving toward the door of her room to leave, her mobile rang.
"Hi." Harry's voice sounded tired, so tired.
"It's almost over, Harry. Just tomorrow, and then we go home. Are you all right?" She wanted him next to her so that she could ask the same question with her arms around him.
"I'd like it to be tomorrow." She heard him sigh, and then lower, he murmured, "I'd like it to be tomorrow night, actually."
Ruth smiled. "I miss you too, Harry. I just got out of a hot bubble bath."
She heard him exhale loudly, but there was a smile in his voice, "You're a wicked girl to torture me, you know. Here I sit at the hotel bar, all alone, having ordered my first of two scotches. I will drink them slowly, savouring them, and then will toddle off to my bed, all alone. And you talk of bubble baths. You probably smell of roses or some such … "
"Lavender."
"Yes, well, lavender will do." Ruth heard the clink of his glass.
"You could come here and smell for yourself." She knew she was playing with fire, but in this moment she wanted him so much, she would be willing to break the pact they had just made this morning.
"No, I can't, and you know it. It would end badly." He took another sip, "Well, not badly, actually … Probably quite nicely … " Harry took a pause, and spoke more softly. "Ruth, tell me again why I'm not crawling in bed with you tonight?"
She laughed quietly, "Because you're the Head of MI5 and you're a very responsible person, Harry. And a very strong one. Stronger than I am, so don't you dare knock on my door tonight. I won't be responsible for my actions. " She whispered into the phone, "I'm much weaker than you are, I promise you."
"I'm counting on it." Harry sighed loudly. "All right. I shall be strong, Ruth. But you had better be making plans to spirit me off somewhere and have your way with me. I won't last much longer."
"Don't stay up too late, Harry. Dream of me. I'll be dreaming of you."
"Then may we meet in our dreams, dear Ruth." His voice went so soft she had to close off her other ear to hear him. "I love you, you know."
Ruth sighed, smiling. "I know you do, and it's a miracle, Harry. A wonderful miracle. I love you, too. Sleep tight."
She heard the phone click off. For a moment she just sat where she was, letting his words wash over her. Better than the hot water, better than the lavender that wafted from her skin. I love you, you know. She did know.
She moved quickly down to the command centre, and turned on her computer. Flipping on the surveillance feeds, she went straight to the one labelled, "South Bar." A short scan and then a zoom, and she had him.
As she watched him sip his scotch, she thought how lonely he looked. And a strange feeling suddenly came over her as she realised in wonder how much her love added to his life. She was so overwhelmed with what he gave her, that it hadn't yet occurred to her that she also gave him a gift.
And all she wanted to do in that moment was pick up the phone and tell him to come to her room, and the consequences be damned. In fact, she picked up the receiver. I want to make love with you, Harry. Here, tonight, then you can go back to your room. One hour, maybe two. Then you can go back to being the Head of MI5. Tonight, I want you.
But she didn't. She hung up the phone. And she channelled her energies into searching through websites for the next hour, looking at hotels with clean white sheets and locked doors. And her new additions to the list of requirements: a claw-foot tub and 24-hour room service.
The next day was a blur to Ruth, but she saw Harry make one of the hardest decisions he'd ever had to make. One she knew she couldn't have made. Gabriel Sekoa had to be stopped, and when Harry said to the team, "I want no one else involved. The next hour never happened," he was giving the order to have a high-ranking official of another country killed.
There was no need for Ruth to reconcile this Harry with the one she knew. They both worked from a combination of head and heart, and although most of the people around Harry saw the way he used his intellect, Ruth saw the heart in everything he did. Her only regret was that she couldn't reach out and touch his arm to let him know she agreed with his decision. The room was full of people, so she had to make do with her eyes. She knew he saw it, the look that told him he was a good man, and had done what he had to do.
Harry and Ruth travelled back to London separately, of course, although Harry wanted very much to have her in the car with him. She could have calmed him, helped him to find his centre again, as she always did. Instead, he drove back in his car, and she in hers, and they talked via mobile until he was called away by the Foreign Secretary. But she had a chance to tell him that in the end, although two lives were lost, those lives prevented the genocide that would have taken many thousands more. Again, Harry had made the decision for the best outcome possible.
As Harry drove the final kilometres home, he thought of Ruth and her sweet, reassuring voice in his ear. So many years of making decisions, agonising alone over their meanings and consequences, with no one to talk to about them. He thought gratefully that it was as if he now had another moral compass to consult, a woman with integrity and intellect, with heart and compassion, who would tell him honestly if he was off track. Harry knew he still had to make the hard decisions, but he knew she would ultimately tell him the truth as she saw it. He trusted her almost more than he trusted himself.
Of course, he thought with a smile, he had always had her there. To frown at him as he used the gender-specific "brotherhood." To call him a bastard when he had, indeed, been one. To tell him when he was being too hard on another member of the team. She had always been there, and he had always counted on her for that.
But now, Harry felt as if she stood like a rock beside him. And in some part of him, Harry knew she would always be there. That he would see her eyes, even when she wasn't present. That he would look to those eyes for answers as he weighed options. Even if he couldn't see her.
Ruth watched from her desk. There were still people on the Grid, filing reports, organising the Havensworth files for storage. Harry knew she was there, because he had looked at her from time to time from his office as he watched the news to see how the Summit was being reported. Although he had gently smiled at her, his eyes were looking particularly haunted tonight. Ruth wanted to be sure he didn't need her before she left for the evening.
They had decided to go to their own homes for the night, to pack and arrange for the pets. Scarlet would spend the week-end with Adam and Wes. Phoebe and Fidget would make do with a large bowl of food and water and a neighbour looking in. Harry and Ruth would be leaving tomorrow evening for the week-end she had promised him. The Windsor Guest House in Bath had the history that Harry would love and the privacy and amenities for Ruth. There would be only 12 other sets of guests there, and yes, there was a claw-foot porcelain tub.
They would have dinner tomorrow evening in the sunset of Bath, and then they would retire to their room. Ruth had chosen the burgundy room, with its tall windows and deep wood furnishings, because she thought Harry would like it.
As she peered at Harry from the shadows, she tried to imagine how she would be feeling twenty-four hours from now. A thrill went down the back of her neck. They would certainly have made love by then. Their time together at Havensworth was so fresh in her mind, she could still feel him curled behind her as they slept, still taste his lips on hers. After all this time, twenty-four hours seemed such a short time to wait, but oh, how she wanted him.
Harry had told Adam that he was going away for the week-end with some Army cronies in Northern England and that he was not to be disturbed unless it was a national emergency. Adam understood. Although Havensworth had been a gruelling experience for Adam, he said he welcomed the responsibility, and was willing to be on call for three days. Harry thought Adam may have suspected he was not being told the truth, but to his credit, he didn't press.
Ruth was tired, and began to collect her purse from the lower drawer of her desk, when suddenly, she heard Ros' quick step coming around the corner. Ros passed in front of Harry's office, clearly angry, and walked around to enter. Harry turned off the news and looked down, as if he knew what was coming and was steeling himself for it.
"You said you could help him. You said you could reduce his sentence!"
"Ros, I said I'd try, I never promised I … "
"Twenty years, Harry." Ros was starting to cry.
Harry moved around his desk to face her. "It wasn't possible, I'm sorry."
Their voices were lower now, and Ruth had trouble hearing, but she knew this was about Ros' father. Harry had told Ruth, late at night, about his decision to withhold personal information from a member of the team so that they could do their job. He hadn't given her the specifics, but Ruth now knew this was what he was talking about. Harry and Ruth had talked about how hard it was to stay focused when a personal issue was so demanding, as they both knew first-hand. Now Ros' voice was rising, and Ruth heard her clearly.
"What right do you have to make judgments on my personal life? Your own isn't exactly a shining example, is it? The fact that your own existence is a walking disaster zone does not give you the right to make judgments on other people's." With that, Ros stormed out of his office, leaving Harry to sit on the edge of his desk, head in hand.
Ruth's heart clenched. Harry's personal life was infinitely better than anyone knew, but they didn't know because he was honouring Ruth's request to keep it a secret. How many smiles had she seen from Harry in the last two weeks? How much laughter had she heard? No one else knew. Harry seldom laughed on the Grid. She had actually only heard it twice in all this time. Of course Ros thought his personal life was a disaster zone. From where she stood, it looked to be.
She couldn't leave him like this. Ruth searched around to see those still on the Grid. There was no way she could do what she wanted to do, take his head and lay in on her chest, hold him, kiss him, let him know that he was dearly loved. And she knew she couldn't just leave.
When she stepped into his office, he was still lost in Ros' words. He didn't look up until she spoke.
"Hi," Ruth said, as she moved toward him.
He could see that there were still people outside his window. They agreed wordlessly that this would not be what they wanted, but he was still so grateful to have her near. "Hi," Harry said, sadly.
Ruth spoke softly, looking deeply into his eyes. "I … um … just wanted to say, about Ros. That you were right." He looked back at her, wanting her comfort. "It's not your fault, Harry."
Those were the words he needed to hear, and from the woman he loved. "Thank you." The gratitude in his voice, so soft, so genuine, made her very glad she had risked venturing into his office.
Harry and Ruth nodded to each other, a silent acknowledgement of the words they wanted to say, but couldn't. They knew they would have the whole week-end to say whatever was in their hearts. Just not now. But Harry knew Ruth had taken a chance coming in like this, and he told her with his eyes what it meant to him.
Ruth knew she wouldn't see him again tonight, although he would call her to tuck her in. "Good night." She said the words, but she couldn't leave without touching him. With her body as a shield to anyone who might be looking on from the Grid, Ruth put her hand on Harry's arm and squeezed. Harry felt it and heard what it said. I love you. And he silently said the same to her.
~~~~~
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"And when will you be telling me exactly where we're going?"
"Just get on the M4 and drive west, Harry." She reached a hand up and touched a spot she loved, the curls just at his neck. "Patience. Isn't that your mantra?"
"Yes, patience. Harder to achieve when you're the one doing the driving, but I will be patient." He smiled at her and then gave his attention back to the road.
As he negotiated the twists and turns of the city, they had some moments of silence. As soon as he turned on to the M4, Harry took a deep breath and reached over to take her hand.
"I need to ask you a question." He paused for a moment, weighing his words. "Are you nervous right now? Because I actually find myself rather overwhelmed with it." He squeezed her hand, but he kept his eyes forward. "A little like the day on the roof when I asked you to dinner."
Ruth smiled softly back at him. "Yes, I'm nervous. Like school. Like making a speech. Like making love for the first time. Like waiting for you to pick me up for dinner. Yes. " She turned and looked at him. "And you didn't seem at all nervous on the roof. You said you'd go anyway, even if I didn't say yes."
"I would have. But what a lonely dinner that would have been. Worse than if I'd never asked." A wistful smile crossed his lips. "I thought I was happy before you charged into our briefing room that day. Or if not happy, then at least content with my life. If you charged back out now, I wonder if I could go back to who I was then. I suppose that's what makes for the nerves, Ruth."
Ruth leant her head back and gazed at him. "And what makes you think that I would charge back out?"
"Well, yes, that's the question, isn't it? I suppose the fact that we are on our way to spending nearly 72 hours together nonstop, in, I assume, various states of dress and undress, without the usual distractions of global terrorism … "
Ruth laughed. "Cripes, Harry, if you put it that way, then, yes, I'm bloody terrified!"
He looked over at her with just the hint of a smile. "And that is the dilemma, for a man of my age and temperament? God, I love being here in this car with you, going … well, going wherever we're going ... But aside from the … er … physical requirements … I'm rather set in my ways, used to a small dog who asks only food, water and a tuck behind the ears now and then? "
"My requirements exactly, Harry. We'll get on well together." She reached as far as her seat belt would allow and kissed his shoulder. Then Ruth's face grew serious, because she could see Harry was still worried.
"Harry." Ruth said. He still kept his eyes on the road.
Ruth spoke more firmly. "My love."
And now he turned to her with that familiar softness in his eyes. "Yes."
She leant back again, the same softness about her. "I can see I'll have to get soppy to convince you. Know this, Harry. You are the love of my life. You could spend the next 72 hours barking at me, and it would still be true. And we could spend the next 72 hours holding each other fully clothed, just as we did at Havensworth, and it would be a perfect week-end."
Harry's eyes were still forward, but he took the hand he held, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. Ruth tickled his cheek with her fingers. "And yes, I'm enormously nervous. More that you, I'm certain. It's been a long time for me, Harry. I'm hoping loving you will help me to bloody remember how to do it."
Harry chuckled softly. "Yes, well, there's two of us." After a pause, he turned to her again with a question in his eyes. "You don't have to answer this if you don't want to."
Ruth smiled at him. "I don't think there's anything I wouldn't tell you."
"How long has it been, Ruth?"
Ruth continued to look at him and stroked his cheek. "About three weeks before I charged into your briefing room."
"Ah, interesting." He put his hand up to hers on his cheek, and exhaled. "Miraculously, about the same for me, although I don't even keep this in my diary. Might have been a week before you came through the door, but never after." He kissed her hand again and placed it on her lap. "Once you said 'Bugger the Home Office' I think I was done for."
Ruth laughed. "Yes, well, romantic words, those."
Harry smiled, but he was still serious. "I think, as I got to know you, I began to want to be worth more. I suppose I wanted to be worth you. So I stopped."
"Stopped what, Harry?"
Ruth could see that he was getting ready to tell her something he had never told anyone. She could hear it in her head, feel it in his eyes, although he wouldn't look at her.
Harry sighed. "Stopped taking various legends out to the bars and using them to get women to sleep with me." He looked at her quickly, then. "Not very often. I only did it a few times." Turning back to drive, he said, softly, "I couldn't very well be Harry Pearce, now could I?"
"Oh, Harry." Ruth reached over and squeezed his arm gently. "You've given your life to the Service. It had to give you something back."
"The first time was kind of a game. I'd had too much to drink, I suppose. It was easy to be someone else, so uncomplicated. And, in truth, I did want to be someone else. At its best it made me feel James Bondish. At worst … well, at worst is what it began to feel like." Harry raised his eyebrows, still looking ahead at the road. "There you have it. Not the nastiest part of me, certainly, but something I wanted you to know." Now he turned to her, and his eyes were sad. "You of such pure love, Ruth."
She simply gazed at him, not moving. "Purer, now. Steady as a rock, Harry. Unchanged. Actually, stronger, because you told me." She broke his gaze and looked down at her hands. "People are meant to be with people. We find ways, whether they're right or wrong." Looking back up at him, she asked, "You're Harry Pearce with me, yes?"
"Yes. Completely. I've never told that to anyone, Ruth."
"Good, then. I'm not interested in James Bond. Mother always said, 'Never go out with anyone prettier than you are.'"
Harry finally laughed at that. "Good advice, and you're on very safe ground with me."
"Not to contradict you, Harry, but I think you are quite the most beautiful man I've ever seen." Harry looked at her, at first thinking she was joking. When he saw that she was in earnest, his face softened into a smile.
"Then I am the luckiest man on Earth." They sat in silence for a time, watching the road speed by, lost in their own thoughts.
Finally, Ruth took a deep breath and spoke again. "And now, my turn. I want to tell you why I left GCHQ."
"You wanted to be a spy?"
"Yes, being a spy is why I wanted to come to MI5. What I want to tell you is what I was running from at GCHQ."
"Ah … " Harry pursed his lips, but the answer came to him immediately. "A man?" Harry was amazed at how this sudden realisation hit him, right to the gut. Of course, how could someone as wonderful as Ruth Elizabeth Evershed not have had complex and passionate relationships. In wonder, in a split second, Harry was jealous. Bloody hell.
Ruth began slowly. "We worked in the same department. I cared for him, but not as much as he cared for me. He was very sweet and attentive. I knew I wouldn't fall in love with him, but I went out with him, and continued to, long after I should have done."
Harry had to hear it all. "So he was the one, three weeks before you came to the Grid?"
"Yes." Ruth looked at Harry, to gauge his reaction, but Harry's face was impassive as he looked at the road. "And to put into perspective the talk I had with you in your office recently, Harry, there was so much gossip about it in the office. I tried to break it off gently, but bloody everyone was talking about the two of us together."
Ruth looked out the window, the pain fresh on her face. "Why do people laugh at such important things? What is it that amuses people about two human beings reaching out for each other? It hurt us very much, and so compromised our work."
"He made the mistake of telling someone in the office that he loved me, and was thinking of proposing. They set up a huge party after hours, and he convinced me to come. He dropped the ring into my glass of wine, and suddenly everyone in the room was quiet. Waiting for my answer."
Harry took Ruth's hand in her lap. "And your answer?" The words caught in his throat, although he hoped she wouldn't notice. He knew what she must have said, but he felt for her so deeply, what that must have been like for her, that it hurt him to even ask.
"Of course I said no. I didn't love him." Ruth's voice was so soft, Harry had to strain to hear her. "I handed the glass of wine back to him, said 'Sorry,' and walked out." Ruth put her hands up to her face, remembering. "Oh, God, how monstrous it felt to do that to him. But I couldn't say yes, because I didn't love him. And of course, next day, it was bloody business as usual at work."
"Oh, Ruth. I'm so sorry. That must have been terrible."
"He never really spoke to me after that, not really. He was understandably mortified. And then, no one else could leave it alone. They simplyhad to talk about it. Some well-meaning, some just mean. You know, these women saying, 'You're alone, he's alone, we thought you didn't want to be lonely anymore.' As if I would agree to spend the rest of my life married to someone I didn't love, just to keep from being alone."
"Many do, Ruth."
"Not me!" Ruth turned to him, and he was surprised by the emotion behind her words. She exhaled. "Sorry."
"Ruth. No need. I understand." Harry looked forward again. "I know what lonely is. And I've not been willing to compromise, either." He looked back at her. "So that's why you asked to be seconded to us?"
"Yes." Ruth took a pause, and then continued. "And it's why I was willing to spy on the Grid in order to make it happen. I think I would have done anything to get away from there."
"I'm glad you told me that, Ruth. It was something I'd always wondered about. When Tom told me you were the one that had leaked the information to Downing Street, it seemed so unlike you. Now I understand you really had no choice."
"Thank you for that, Harry." They drove in silence for a time. Finally, Harry spoke.
"Ruth, there's something I have to tell you. I should have told you years ago. And if I don't tell you now, I never will."
~~~~~
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"What, Harry?"
"I've thought of telling you so many times, but I'm not a great believer in superstition, or the occult, or … or ... dreams. I believe in reality, in what I can touch and see."
Ruth gave him a puzzled look. "Dreams can be teachers, Harry. This is about a dream?"
"Yes, the night of the first day you showed up on the Grid." He looked over at her, his eyes searching hers. "I seldom remember my dreams. This one was very different."
"Do you want to pull over, Harry? Take a break and just talk?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm not sure I'd tell you then." He leant his arm on the door, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Christ, I'm not sure I can tell you anyway. It feels completely ridiculous, and you'll think me insane. But it's as real to me as if it happened, and I've never forgotten it."
"So are you worried I'll think you ridiculous if you tell me about a dream you had three-and-a-half years ago that still seems real to you, Harry?"
"Yes," he said, shaking his head again. "And bloody well you should."
"I won't. Because I believe in dreams. I think they tell us things we can't hear any other way." Ruth put her hand on his leg. "Tell me, Harry. I think you want to."
Harry took a long moment, both hands on the wheel, looking straight forward. The set of his mouth told Ruth that he was still debating whether this was a good idea, so she let him be. Finally, he spoke, but he still couldn't look at her. "I want you to know that I'm not implying anything by telling you this. There is no secret message here. I want to tell you this because I love you, and want you to know the things that affect me deeply." Now he looked at her. "This is not a question I'm asking you, Ruth. It's a thing I'm telling you."
The puzzle still wasn't clear in her mind, but she thought the best thing to do was keep quiet and simply nod.
Harry took a deep breath and continued. "That night, after first meeting you, I dreamt we were … together … we were … living together … and … " Harry sighed and leapt. " … married."
Not a question I'm asking you, a thing I'm telling you. Ruth's mouth opened, but she couldn't think quite what to say, so she said, "Ah." Inadequate, but the only thought she could manage to form.
Now that he had said the dreaded word, Harry was speaking quickly, wanting to fill in the spaces for her. "You have to understand, that state is something I gave up long ago. Absolutely without question. I could never be a good husband, would never be faithful, would break any woman's heart with my dedication to my work and my damned irascibility. I would live out my days alone. This was a fact for me. It was a fact that night when I went to sleep, and it was a fact for a long time afterwards. But the memory of that bloody dream refused to go away."
Harry couldn't look at her. Ruth was speechless. She wracked her brain for something to say that would make sense, and simply couldn't come up with a single word. Thank God Harry still had more to say.
"Every time you walked into my office, into the briefing room, the vision of us together would come back to me. It was as if it was a real memory, had really happened. I may have controlled it well, because I'm trained to do that, but I've struggled with that blasted dream all this time, telling myself it wasn't real. And I still can pull those feelings out, any time I want to, and be there again. I thought I was going mad for awhile."
Harry shook his head, his voice rising, "It's a goddamned schoolgirl's dream, Ruth." He still hadn't turned to her. He breathed deeply, and when he started talking again, his voice had calmed. "And I'm telling you this now, because it has been in the background of every word I've ever spoken to you and every thought I've had while I was with you. It is a part of my memory, just as our nights at Havensworth will always be a part of my memory, as will this drive with you today."
Ruth didn't want to say anything to make him regret telling her, so she felt she needed to tread carefully. But she had so many questions now. She picked the one that came first to her lips. "Were you happy? In the dream?"
Harry finally managed to look at her. He smiled. It seemed a combination of his gratitude for her not telling him to turn the car around, and for her calm and matter-of-fact way of asking, as if everything he had told her made perfect sense. He let out a low laugh. "Yes. I felt the way I've felt for much of the last two weeks, Ruth. Yes, happy."
Ruth reached up and brushed her fingers across his cheek. "Well, that's good, then."
Harry looked at her incredulously. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"
Ruth laughed. "Oh, no, not nearly, Harry. I have a thousand things to say, and a thousand feelings to go with them." Ruth moved her hand down to his neck. "But I want this week-end with you, and talking about the terrifying aspects of matrimony might not be the best way to get you in the mood."
Now Harry laughed too, a full, relieved laugh. "No, I don't suppose it is." He captured her hand in his own. "Thank you, Ruth, for listening. I feel rather less mad now, and very glad to have gotten that out."
He kissed her hand, and kept his eyes on the road ahead. Now his voice was soft, and Ruth committed every word to memory as he spoke. "We'll move on from this conversation now, but if I should ... if you should hear me say again that there is something I should have told you years ago … " Harry looked directly at Ruth, his brown eyes full of love, " … we will talk about this. And it may be a question."
"Take A46 at Junction 18, Harry."
Now he smiled at her, with a look of understanding about their destination. "Ah, Bath." He shook his head, "I should have known. And what Jane Austen heroine will be holding our reservation? Elizabeth Bennett? No, too obvious. Someone obscure, like … um … Lady Susan Vernon?"
Ruth gave him a light push. "Harry! How well you know me! That was the one I was considering!" She laughed as she raised a hand to cover her eyes in embarrassment. "I didn't think anyone else had ever heard of Susan Vernon!" Ruth uncovered her eyes and looked over at him. "But, no, I started thinking about it, and realised every love struck girl in Britain must come here and reserve a room as Eleanor Dashwood or Catherine Morland. Must be endlessly tiresome for the desk clerks."
"Then what name? Certainly not your own. Not a good spook like you, Ruth."
"No, Harry. It's under Elizabeth Bickley. My mother's maiden name."
"And I am to be … Lord Bickley? At least give me time to formulate a legend before we scandalise Bath."
"God, Harry, I hadn't thought that far ahead. Are people still scandalised about unmarried consenting adults sharing a room? It hadn't even occurred to me."
Harry nodded. "I suppose you're right. I simply like to have all my ducks lined up, just in case. So what was your grandfather Bickley's name?"
"Reginald."
"Lord Reginald Bickley it is, then."
Ruth burst out laughing. "Oh, Harry, no! I can't share a room with my bloody grandfather, even if it is just his name! Find another."
Harry didn't miss a beat. "William Arden, then. Investment banker. Or, as my favourite Intelligence Analyst once so quaintly put it, 'a big swinging dick.'"
Ruth tried to look innocent. "I didn't make that up, Harry. That's what they call themselves."
Harry tilted his head and smiled. "Yes, I'm sure they do."
Ruth looked quickly at the map. "Harry, concentrate. You need to take the London Road exit, then on to Cleveland…"
They looked up to see a lovely building with a tan brick front, wrought iron fence, and ornate entrance with flagstone walkway. It was three stories tall, and Ruth knew their room was on the top floor overlooking the courtyard. It was utterly charming.
The Windsor Guest House was perfect for their week-end, and Ruth smiled at Harry as he looked back at her with a contentment she hadn't seen in quite a while.
The restaurant recommended by the clerk was The Moon and Sixpence, a favourite of the locals. It was set back from the street, calm and secluded, with a lovely, international cuisine and an extensive wine list. Harry ordered a bottle of white burgundy, and Ruth appreciated the romance of his choice.
They talked about nothing and everything. The wine began to loosen them, and soon they were relaxed, allowing their natural companionship to flow. At some point in the conversation, each of them received a stern inward lecture about the absurdity of nerves in this particular situation. They loved each other very much, and it would be as it would be.
The dinner over, the bottle empty, they walked back to the hotel, hand in hand, utterly captivated with where they were and what they were doing. Upstairs in the lift, and through their door. Then the twist of the lock.
The light in the room was soft, from a small lamp on the desk with a burgundy cover. It pooled there where she stood, but Harry was still in the half-light, and the bed was dimmer still. The colour of the room gave them a sort of glow, both of them. Ruth thought the glow could have been the wine, or the love they felt for each other, which was so strong right now it was a palpable thing in the room.
Harry was moving, coming toward her. In his eyes was a look of wonder, and she felt clearly that it was due to her, due to the fact that he loved her so much, and could almost not believe she also loved him. He put his arms around her and held her, wordlessly, for some time. She could feel his heart, and yes, it was pounding just as hers was. It was as if he wanted her to know how important this was to him, and that his heart would tell her so.
Then, gently, he pulled away, and leant down to kiss her. His lips, so soft, tasting delightfully of white burgundy and a hint of the chocolate and raspberry dessert they had shared. First he just brushed her lips, tenderly, and then pressed more insistently as he felt her respond to him. Her head was spinning just a bit, and Ruth gripped his arms tightly in case she should lose her balance.
Now he opened his lips, and she was lost. Nerves gone, awkwardness disappeared. She loved Harry so completely, and her whole body yearned to show him how much. Her arms went up about his neck and she clung to him as they kissed, as if for her life.
Harry felt her length against him, and was reminded of Havensworth, the delight of her body next to his. And now, because there was no more need to wait, because nothing was going to stop them, he wanted it all.
Still kissing her, he led Ruth the few steps to the side of the bed. He pulled away, reluctantly, from her lips. Harry looked at her, so lovely with her flushed cheeks, her love for him so fiery in her eyes, and he whispered, "I love you." But that didn't seem enough, so he said it again, more insistently, this time against her lips, "I love you."
It was almost a cry, and it came from a place so deep inside him, Ruth responded with her own, repeating the words against his lips. Now she wanted to feel his skin under her fingers, and her hand went from his face down to his neck and to the top button of his shirt. Her other hand joined in the task of unfastening the buttons, each in turn, until she had his shirt open. She pulled it free from his jeans, and allowed herself to slowly encircle him, until her hands were at his back.
The combination of soft skin over muscle sent her hands exploring still further, as she traversed his back and then moved around to his chest again, feeling the skin there, like silk, and grazing her fingers across it. Harry moaned softly, locked in the kiss that now threatened to engulf Ruth completely.
Harry felt her nails softly tracing lines on his chest, and shivered. He was no longer worried about being able to make love, now he wondered if it could happen fast enough. Aware that his chest was now bare against her blouse, he wanted to feel her skin against his. Gently, he moved his hands to her neck, and felt the buttons there. One by one, he undid them, until he slid the blouse off of her arms and it fell to the floor. There was the feel of cool satin, so smooth, so soft against his chest.
Ruth pulled away from the kiss, and as she held his eyes, she reached to the hem and pulled the camisole quickly over her head. Now she was bare to the waist, with a look that was somehow vulnerable but challenging, shy but passionate. Harry gazed at her, so beautiful in the gold light, her breasts perfect, the delicate line that fell between them causing a rise of light and dark in the shadows. He shrugged off his shirt and bent to kiss that line, tasting sweetness, and finding just the hint of lavender.
All this time, he thought, and he had never touched her. He had in his dream, of course, and had re-lived it a thousand times since then. But wonderful as that was, it was nothing like this. This woman he loved so completely, with his soul, and still he had so much learn about her body. It was like discovering a new and magnificent land.
His hands moved up to hold her, each breast enclosed in the warmth of his palm, fitting perfectly. He bent to kiss her again, and Ruth pulled him to her, pressing their bare skin together. She could feel him now, straining against his jeans, and she reached her hands down to free him. She unclasped the button, and then the zip, and hooking her thumbs into the waistband, pulled down on his jeans, taking his boxers with them.
Harry did the same with her skirt, the elastic of the waistband giving way easily as he pulled down, catching the silk knickers and pooling them both on the floor. Harry kicked off his jeans, and they stopped, and just looked. Their breath quickened, and each was feeling the shyness, the self-consciousness of this new intimacy, but they were taking the time to savour this very first look, a time that would never come again.
Ruth trailed a finger lightly down his chest and on to his hips. "You're beautiful," she said breathlessly. His voice was ragged, low, as if he didn't quite believe her, but loved that she said it. "So you tell me." Harry cupped one of her breasts, and then let his fingers move gently over her stomach. "And you are utterly exquisite, my Ruth. I want every part of you." Ruth smiled and looked down at him. "I can see that."
Now they couldn't wait. Years of wanting, of self-control, suddenly pressed on both of them with a weight that was impossible to deny. Harry reached over and pulled the cover from the bed. He lifted the white sheet and crawled in, pulling Ruth with him by the hand. He kissed her face lightly, all over, as he moved next to her, brushing her with his lips, on her shoulders and her neck, feeling the impossible softness of her skin, his tongue tasting her.
He was alongside her now, and the sensation of skin against skin, everywhere, was almost more than he could stand. Ruth was sighing, and she entwined her legs with his, moving against him. Harry felt the years of denial begin to line up, dangerously, and wondered how he could hold back, surrounded as he was by her. He stopped suddenly, with a soft moan, and Ruth knew why, because she was close, too, and for the same reason.
They held there for a moment, suspended, their quick breathing warm on each other's skin, their hearts beating soundly in their chests. Harry was searching for every ounce of control he had, and Ruth was letting him find it. Finally, Harry exhaled deeply, and began to kiss her neck again, tenderly. He pushed her gently back on to the pillows, trailing his full lips from her neck to the soft rise of her breast, and then following its curve down and around, to the warm crease below it.
Ruth closed her eyes. This was her dream, not a night time dream, but the one she'd had of a true love that was not beyond hope, was waiting for her. She'd wanted it to be Harry, and now it was. His hands were everywhere, touching her, finding places to rest and then move. She could feel his fingertips distinctly, each one travelling across her skin as if independent of the others, and his lips and tongue were exploring the places his hands couldn't be. She felt completely held by him, every part of her deliciously alive, ready to burst.
As the feelings intensified, Ruth raised her arms over her head, clutching the pillows with soft, whispered sighs. Now his lips had moved lower and found her, now his tongue, and Ruth felt herself falling, weightless, abandoning her sense of place and time as she fell. She arched her back, relinquishing herself to it, aware of every lovely nerve in her body, and crying out softly the name that was now more precious to her than her own, "Harry."
He laid his head on her stomach, the softest, warmest pillow he could imagine, and rode her breath as it rose and fell. He was breathing as heavily as she was, and felt he had crested the wave with her, almost losing himself in the process. This was love, truly. A greater care for another than you had for yourself. They could stop now and he would be fulfilled, and that was new for Harry.
But stopping was far from Ruth's intention. Having now regained some semblance of consciousness, she ruffled his hair gently and pulled lightly on his ear. "Come here, please." He looked up at her, chin on her stomach, and smiled, as if to say, "Me?" She nodded, and he began to crawl up to her, like some wonderful, smooth snake, never losing contact between their bodies. When his mouth reached hers, she rewarded him with a long, deep kiss that made him re-think the whole idea of stopping.
Ruth could feel him willing the control to stay in his body. She moved her lips over to his ear, and, through held breaths, said, "Now, Harry."
Just the words threatened to pull him over the edge, and he whispered, "It won't be long, I think."
Her voice went lower, more seductive. "I know, that's exactly what I want. It wasn't for me, either, was it? We'll have plenty of time later." Her teeth grabbed lightly on his ear, "Now, Harry."
No need to say it three times. He only had to move slightly as she welcomed him in and suddenly, exquisitely, he was surrounded by her. Ruth let out a deep sigh that spread warmth across his cheek, and he couldn't resist looking at her in the dim light. Her eyes were closed, her head was arched back on the pillow, her lips slightly parted. Now his own urgency felt a little less, as he moved slowly, tantalisingly, watching her face, trying to imagine how it felt for her.
Ruth opened her eyes and looked back at him. Her whole face was soft, eyes, lips, cheeks, flushed, warm, hypnotising. Her hair was tangled, spread across the pillow with its white case, smooth and clean. And this was his dream. He knew it because it also contained the love that he had always felt there. She gazed back at him, unblinking, and he knew that she wanted to hold this moment as much as he did. But the intensity of the feeling, coupled with the movement they couldn't resist, was not possible to sustain.
Both blissfully let go of control at the same time, closing their eyes and letting their bodies release together. Once, twice, then a final leap and they both were falling, clutching each other, joined so completely that they had just one body, one mind, one heart as they fell.
Harry was finding his breath again, coming back into the room, feeling the indescribable power of what they had just done, when he saw a tear slip down her cheek, drop and spread on the pillowcase. He pulled away and looked at her, dismayed, "Ruth? Why? Have I hurt you?"
She smiled at him, although the tears still slid, silently. "No, Harry, no." She moved her hand up to his face and stroked his cheek, "Oh, God, no. I think I am happier and feel more myself right now than I have in my entire life. It's as if I know what I was made for." She reached up and pulled him to her, placing his head on her breast. "I can't express how much I love you right now. It's pointless to try."
Harry sighed, feeling her heart begin to calm under his ear, and her soft, smooth skin under his cheek. He spoke tenderly, hearing himself reverberate through her chest.
"This is my dream, Ruth. I always thought it was perfect, but this is better. This is what I dreamt."
Ruth laughed softly. "It's a good one, Harry. This is a good dream."
Harry woke slowly, his eyes adjusting to the new morning light. They had thrown off the covers, both of them, and they lay in their favourite position, him curled tightly against her back, arm draped over her waist. The sunrise through the large windows turned Ruth's skin to molten gold, and without stirring, he traced the rising and falling of her waist, hip and thigh, first with his eyes, and then by trailing a finger softly along the curve.
He felt her shift, just perceptibly. Half of him wanted to wake her, half wanted to enjoy this private moment with her still asleep, but then as he trailed his finger back up again, it rested finally on her breast, which moved on her light waves of breath, and he couldn't resist. Cupping it with his hand, he felt the softness there, the indistinct separation between breast and nipple in her unaroused state.
With his finger again, he circled it, slowly, pausing to move across, and he felt it rise slightly. She seemed still to be asleep, but now there was a soft moan from deep within her, and the nipple changed shape, growing firmer, becoming less a part of the natural slope of her breast, more distinct. He explored it between finger and thumb, gently, and this time, Ruth stirred, with a sleepy "Mmmmm."
Harry was fascinated by the change he had produced in her body, just by the touch of a finger. His voice was soft, rough with sleep, "How does that happen?" It wasn't a question that required an answer. It was as if he were watching the sun rise outside the window or seeing a wave crash off the sea, some miraculous natural process that brought on rhetorical questions such as this.
But now Ruth was almost awake, and she thought she might give him an answer. Without changing her position or opening her eyes, she slowly moved her arm behind her and found the rise of his hip. She felt the combination of rough and soft hairs there and trailed her fingernails lightly across the skin of his thigh, first one, then the other, passing over the obvious destination between them.
Now Harry was the one to close his eyes and let out a soft moan. Ruth's fingers moved slowly, agonisingly, from his thigh to his stomach, then just lower to curl them in the hairs there, but still not where he wanted them. She felt his hand tighten unconsciously on her breast, and then she moved lower, taking hold of him. He jumped under her hand and stiffened.
Ruth still hadn't moved her body or opened her eyes, but now she murmured, sweetly, innocently, "How does that happen?" Harry laughed, a low vibrating laugh, and circled her with his strong arms, pinning her so she couldn't move.
He whispered into her neck. "Effective technique, Ruth. Ask the questioner a question? You're getting very good at interrogation." With that, he turned her so he could look at her face, her skin glowing in the golden stripes that fell across her from the sun, moving higher on the horizon. She was smiling, a sleepy contented smile, he thought.
Harry tenderly combed a tendril of hair from her eyes. "Good morning."
She kissed his cheek and murmured, "What do you want to do today?"
"I thought we were already doing it."
Ruth laughed, burrowing her head under his chin and snuggling there. "Harry, we can't stay in bed for the entire week-end." He was silent, and she looked up at him. "Can we?" Harry's hands were moving down her back and across the rise of her hips, and she felt herself beginning to want him again. "Mmmmm, then, I suppose another hour won't hurt."
He kissed her once, twice, quickly, before parting his lips and taking her lower lip gently between his teeth. She drew him closer, and their bare skin met from their lips down to their toes in an unbroken line. They had held each other, but not like this. Even the love they made last night had been under the warmth and protection of the covers. This was different, with skin entirely exposed to the air, every inch of them open for exploring hands and lips.
As they kissed, Ruth let her fingers roam over his strong back, feeling the rise and fall of his muscles there, and then the thin layer of softness at his waist that she loved. His body responded with gooseflesh, appearing under her fingertips, supple and firm at the same time. She pulled away, and looked down to see him in the growing light. It was beginning to spill from the windows on to the bed and their bodies, now not just gold but some orange and pink creating pools on their skin.
She had seen him last night, but only in the dim light from the lamp. And they had wanted it so desperately, both of them, that they hadn't been able to take the time to savour. Now they had time, to taste, and feel, and discover each other in the daylight, or at least in the light that was growing as the sun rose.
Harry watched her looking at him and smiled as she drank in the sight of his chest , the skin so smooth, without hair, like silk under her fingers. She bent her head to kiss him there, feeling the softness on her lips, and the firmness of the muscle under the skin. And as her eyes and her hands moved lower, and she touched him, he saw no embarrassment, no blush. She used her knuckles to trace a line up and down his length, and she sighed as he responded, her breathing becoming almost as quick as his own.
Ruth kissed the small cavity at his breastbone, and then his navel, trailing her lips over his skin and gently pushing him to lie on his back. Her hands roamed as her lips did, touching him and making his skin rise and fall along with his breath. He knew now what would happen, and he wanted it more than he thought possible.
As her lips moved lower still, in the part of his mind that was still lucid, he remembered the walk in Henley-on-Thames and the sure knowledge that Ruth was many things, a complex, passionate woman who hungered for the same things he did, and wanted him as deeply as he wanted her. And he loved her completely.
~~~~~
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