1/1/11

Secrets I : Chapter 16 - 18

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The sun was high in the sky when Harry opened his eyes. He lay splayed diagonally across the bed, and he was alone. The sheets and covers had long ago fallen to the floor, and he stretched luxuriously, using every inch of the queen size bed. Raising his head as far as his strength would allow at the moment, he could see no Ruth. But he did hear water running. And the faint scent of lavender, warm and moist, seemed to be in the air.
Harry rolled over, feeling the delicious contentment of his skin against the cotton under him, and the warmth of the sun that played across the bed and his naked body. But now he heard humming, just the hint of her voice, from the bathroom. He sat up, wanting to see her, anticipating the view of the particularly feminine ritual that she had so tortured him with just nights ago.
But first, he was starving. Hungrier than he could remember being. From the side table, he pulled the breakfast menu, and found what he craved. The Full English Breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausage, kippers, salmon, tomatoes, baked beans. Christ, he was hungry. Harry picked up the phone and rang for room service.
"Yes, sir?"
"I'd like to … " Harry realised he hadn't used his voice yet today. He sounded like a bloody drunken sailor. Clearing his throat, Harry smiled and tried to pull himself together. "Yes, I'd like to order the Full English Breakfast for two?"
"You'd like a second one, sir?"
"Well, for two, but no, not a second one." Harry was having trouble tracking this conversation. He wondered if last night and this morning had affected his brain. Worth it, even if it had, he thought, smiling.
"One has already been ordered, sir. By your wife?"
"My … ? Ah, yes, my wife. Sorry. Yes. And when will that be arriving?"
"Half hour, sir. Will that do?"
"Yes. Brilliant. Thanks." Harry hung up the phone. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been stretched to the limit, and then warmly returned to its rightful place. He felt simultaneously tired to the bone and energised, if that was possible. He felt magnificently alive, and enormously contented.
He moved to the side of the bed, feet on the floor, to get his bearings. Standing, he reached down for the sheet, crumpled in a heap, and pulled it round him, trailing it behind as he searched her out.
Harry found her in the old fashioned claw-foot tub, in a sea of bubbles, her head just above them, her body invisible. The scent now was almost overwhelming, a field of lavender, an ocean of lavender, lavender rain in the moisture from the hot bath. It made his head spin somewhat, and he closed the lid of the toilet to sit, still surrounded by the white sheet.
Her eyes were closed, and in her bliss she had yet to know he was there. He watched her, breathing softly, and felt voyeuristic in his silence. The woman's bubble bath. An enchanting mystery.
What clutched at his heart was how beautiful it was. Oh, to have a spy's camera right now, to capture this moment forever so that he could remember it when he was cold or lonely or feeling the world was not a very happy place. The wet warmth of the room, the bubbles slowly moving with her breath, the smile that pulled at the corners of her lovely lush mouth, that mouth that had been, just this morning, on him …
Dumbfounded, Harry felt himself stir again under the sheet. He smiled, and put away firmly any worries he'd had about how long it had been and how advanced in years he felt at times. Just needed the right incentive, he thought. And love. God, he loved her. As he watched her reach up to wipe a bubble away from her face, he could stand it no longer. He let the sheet drop and moved over to the tub.
The water was high around her, but he measured it with his eyes, and thought he might just make it. Carefully, he stepped one foot in, toes first, then ankle, then calf, and then he found the space between her legs to stand. Ruth opened her eyes, and to her credit, Harry thought, she didn't flinch. She simply looked up at him and smiled, considering him in all his glory, full in front of her.
"Hello, Harry." As she realised what he was attempting, she laughed softly. "Do we have flood insurance on this room?"
He was still moving gingerly, disturbing the water as little as possible, and now he had both feet firmly on the porcelain, as he began to lower himself slowly into the water. "Won't need it. I've already calculated the weight and size of my body with the displacement ratio, and there's not going to be a flood. Have faith, dear Ruth."
She was trying not to laugh. "You'll smell of lavender all day long, you know."
"I'll be entwined with you all day long. No one will notice." Now he was holding the sides of the tub, bracing with his arms, as he lowered his waist into the warm water. Ruth moved up a bit, taking more of herself out of the tub to allow for more of him, but she was still sceptical, and her face clearly showed it. She was ready to burst out laughing, actually, but was afraid the motion might just put them over the edge.
The water rose and toyed with the lip of the tub, as Harry felt bottom and looked at her, eyebrows raised in triumph. "Oh, ye of little faith." he said. But now, they had to stay motionless, or the water would overflow. Absolutely motionless, which at this point was impossible, because Ruth couldn't hold back much longer. For some reason, this situation struck her as entirely ridiculous, and in her current happiness, ridiculous meant laughter.
"Harry, the plug. Come on, you've made your point." Ruth found it hard to look at him, because he sat, looking supremely uncomfortable, as if on a bed of nails, really, so as not to disturb the water. This, and her Harry Pearce being surrounded by huge lavender bubbles suddenly was too much too bear. Ruth, dripping with white foam, stood up, bent over to support herself on the sides of the tub, and laughed.
He looked up at her, tilting his head in mock astonishment. "What?"
This simply sent her further, and through her laughter she said, "Harry, please, it's freezing out here, please pull the plug so I can get back in. Just a little, oh God, please, it's cold…"
He turned and pulled the plug from between his legs, and the water receded. She eased herself back in, still recovering, and he plugged it again as soon as he deemed it safe.
He shook his head, now laughing with her. "Now, that was an overreaction, Ruth. There was plenty of room."
She pointed to the edges, where even now the water was threatening to tumble over. "Look," she said.
"And if you could restrain yourself from laughing at me, we would have more luck, wouldn't we?" Harry ran his hands from her feet, which straddled his hips, slowly up to her knees. His smile told her he had something in mind to get her to stop laughing, and she tilted her head at him in a question.
"Ah, not laughing now, are we?" Harry had now moved his hands on their natural path from her knees down toward her thighs. Ruth smiled at him, and began to sit up further, on her way to giving him a kiss.
"No. You stay there." His voice was soft as he pushed her gently back against the tub. "This is for you." She obeyed, and, as he predicted, she wasn't laughing anymore. "Remember, no moving, or there will be a flood. Be very still, my Ruth."
His eyes locked on hers, and hers gazed back at him. There was the faint sound of the water lapping against the side of the tub, and the bursting of bubbles like tiny fireworks around their heads. Other than that, it was silent but for their breathing, now soft and regular. Harry's chin was resting lightly on her knees as he leant forward. "Do you remember the other night, Ruth, when I was in the bar and you told me about your bath?" His voice was no longer teasing, it was gentle and sweet, and full of love.
His hands were travelling over her skin, floating over her arms and shoulders on the thin layer of soap in the deliciously scented warm water. "As the second drink was placed in front of me, this is where I was, with you, here." He smiled at her. "I imagined it quite well, actually. But I said to myself that if I ever had the chance, I would enjoy every moment of it."
Now his hands were trailing down the front of her, between her breasts, then back up and over them. His touch was so light that she had to concentrate to feel exactly where he was. His warm fingers melded with the warm water, with just traces of sensation where he had been. Ruth closed her eyes.
"Mmmmmm. We have breakfast coming, you know." Her voice was soft, sleepy.
"I know, I tried to order a second one. They told me my wife had already ordered." Now his fingers were moving lower across her stomach, around her hips and to her upper thighs, then her inner thighs.
She opened her eyes slowly and looked at him. "I know, I gave in to propriety. Shameful of me, a liberated woman, but I just had to say it." Ruth arched her back slightly, moving toward his touch. "Do you mind terribly?"
"That you saved my reputation? No, not terribly, Ruth." He was watching her every movement, the flicker of her eyelids, the parting of her lips, her breath which was coming faster now, causing her breasts to rise and fall in the water. As his hands moved where she hoped he would go, Ruth breathed in sharply, and a smile played on her face.
"Harry …"
"Mmmmmmm?"
"I can see now that we are going to have some … er …. trouble … um … leaving this room." She was experiencing some difficulty joining thoughts together.
"Yes." He was enchanted, watching her. Her eyes were still closed, and now her arms were on the sides of the tub, where the water was moving slightly higher.
"Well, I was … oh … wondering … er … if we should … should … " She stopped, biting her lower lip slightly.
"Yes?" Harry was enjoying this immensely. Exquisite payback for the other night, as he had sat miserably at the bar. It was actually even better than he imagined.
Then, three things happened at once. There was a knock at the door, Ruth suddenly clenched her legs around Harry's waist, and half the water subsequently spilled out of the tub.
When the waiter rolled in the breakfast cart, he thought he might have disturbed them, but he kept his eyes discreetly lowered. The gentleman wore the white bathrobe that came with the room, but there were pools of water forming at his feet, and they seemed to contain bubbles. More disturbing was the fact that water was soaking the carpet just outside the bathroom door. The scent of lavender in the room was overpowering.
As he set out the dishes, he was aware that the gentleman was having a great deal of difficulty keeping his face in order, in fact he appeared to be rather on the verge of laughter. And he was quite certain, as he accepted the note as a tip, just before he closed the door behind him, that he heard a woman laughing too.
~~~~~

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ruth leant back in her chair and stretched her legs out, wrapping her foot around Harry's under the table. She folded the last pieces of tomato and bacon together, and put them delicately into her mouth. Harry sat across from her, enveloped in his white terry robe, reading the morning paper that had come with the food.
If Harry had looked up, the half-smile he would have seen would put him in mind of the Mona Lisa. It was an unreadable, unfathomable female look she gave him as she watched his eyes scan the paper, and watched his lips in their various involuntary expressions reacting to what he read. What Ruth was really thinking was that this moment was every bit as intimate as the ones they had shared last night and this morning. Every bit as seductive, and every bit as precious.
This was Harry, her Harry. Henry James Pearce. The man inside the man the world saw. In her mind, Ruth superimposed the suit and tie over the robe, substituted a file for the newspaper, and the breakfast table was his desk. Yes, the same man.
But then, as she looked at his smooth chest above the opening of the robe and remembered the feel of his skin under her lips, her mind went again to what they had done last night. The delicious recognition of what his hands did, where his mouth had travelled, his voice soft in her ears. It made her catch her breath and shift in her chair to rub the shiver from her neck.
Ruth smiled. Her dreams hadn't been quite as specific as the wonderful reality. She had known he could be gentle because she'd seen it, but what she hadn't realised was how intuitive he was, the almost reverent way he had of moving over her skin, exploring her. He truly enjoyed it, and there was no aphrodisiac quite like it. No matter how she had tried to imagine what it would be like to make love with Harry Pearce, her imaginings hadn't come near the mark.
Ruth knew that this new intimacy had forever changed them. Like a valve in the heart that opens and then closes once it's passed through, they could never go back to the two people they had been together before. They would always be a new entity, once and perhaps forever a couple, and Ruth wondered how long the secret would be possible. She felt as if it was now written on her face, as clear to the observer as it was to her own heart. Harry was not only the man she loved, he was a part of her molecular structure, as if they had melded together in the night.
She knew that as long as she lived he would be a part of her. It didn't matter what happened now. If she never saw him past today, Ruth believed that Harry's name would still be the one on her lips as she moved from this world into the next.
"You're studying me." Harry's head didn't change position, just his eyes, with a spook's economy of movement. He was smiling at her, and she wondered how long he had been aware of her watching him. She guessed it had been rather a long time.
"Yes, I suppose I am." She smiled back, and turned her coffee cup round on the table to cover the embarrassment of being caught.
"And what are you learning?" Harry folded the paper and put it down. He picked up the carafe of coffee and poured some into Ruth's cup and then into his own.
"Lots of things." To his raised eyebrows, she answered, "You remember when we talked on the bench last Saturday?" Ruth shook her head lightly, "God, was that only a week ago?" Harry nodded, smiling. "Well, I remember we talked about losing control, that it could be frightening?" She smiled shyly at him, and Harry thought he saw just the hint of a blush in her cheeks. "Not so bad, Harry. Not with you."
Harry pursed his lips, but there was light in his eyes. "Not so bad. What every man wants to hear the morning after."
Ruth laughed warmly, and spoke low, seductively, her eyes soft. "Oh, I think we both know my evaluation would be quite a bit better than that." Ruth poured some cream into Harry's cup first, and then some in her own. She stirred them both, and watched the movement, keeping her eyes lowered. "I guess I just wanted to say that I felt … safe." Now she looked into his eyes. "I always feel safe with you, Harry."
"That's good." Harry took her hand across the table. For a moment, they just looked at each other, and then Harry spoke again. "And what else were you thinking as you were studying me?"
Ruth thought for just a moment. "That we're all many people. Who we are, and who we show to the world, as a start." Ruth picked up her cup and sipped, looking at him over the rim.
"Ah, yes, occupational hazard. Where does the real leave off and the legend begin?" He looked across at her, his voice clear. "I can help you with that one. This is real, Ruth." He curled his finger into a lock of hair that hadn't dried yet and had fallen into a tiny ringlet at her cheek. The white terry robe was dangerously loose above the tie at her waist. Harry wondered what he'd found so bloody interesting in the paper, because now he couldn't take his eyes off her.
She looked across at him, shaking her head. "Does it seem at all strange to you, Harry? How comfortable this is?"
He was listening, but most of all, he was looking. He felt no urgency to do or understand anything in this moment. He just wanted her not to move so he could keep gazing at her. "In what way?"
"Oh, I don't know, that we've been together for … er … twelve days? And here we are, wrapped in dressing robes, having breakfast, well, lunch, and, really, I couldn't be more comfortable."
Her foot was still rubbing his, and he rubbed back. "We've been together for much longer than twelve days, Ruth."
Her smile matched his, soft and warm. "Not like this, Harry."
"No, I suppose that's true. Not like this."
They held each other's eyes, each committing the other to memory. As they acknowledged the preciousness of what they had in this moment, the inevitable fear of its loss intruded. And, as they had found in their time together, their thoughts blended. Who had the thought first, and who received it, was impossible to tell, but Ruth voiced it. "What I said at dinner, Harry? That we're a strange species?" She took another sip of coffee. "You know there's nowhere I'd rather be than MI5, but it's not like you heading off to the bank every day, and me off to the shops, you know?"
"No, it's not."
Now Ruth's eyes glistened just a bit as she looked at him. "So what do I do next time you get shot?"
Harry wanted to walk around and pull her into his arms, to hold her and tell her that wouldn't happen. But he couldn't, because it might. So he simply sat and looked at her, his mouth set, his eyes searching hers. He tried to remember if it was twenty-six or twenty-seven times his life had almost been taken while doing his job. The idea that there would not be a twenty-eighth never entered his mind. There would be. And truth was, the law of averages was beginning to work against him.
Ruth put down her coffee cup and leant forward on the table, taking his hand. "Sorry. No answers for questions like that."
Harry leant forward too. "It's different now, isn't it? It's changed." Harry watched their hands together, as his thumb stroked hers, gently. Ruth knew he was speaking to her, but was also speaking to himself. "I know we've always had something to lose, but now … the more we give of ourselves, the more we have to lose. It's a risk, setting your heart out there for target practice." Harry looked up at her. "I suppose the best I can give you, Ruth, is that I'll try not to get shot."
Ruth smiled at him. "I'd appreciate that very much, Harry."
Harry continued. "You know, I've always liked the idea of officers romantically involved with each other." At Ruth's surprised look, he continued. "Of course, Fiona's death was a tragedy. And Tom and Christine really needed to be working for the same country." He looked meaningfully into Ruth's eyes, "But in principle, I feel it does a man good to have someone to look out for, as well as someone to look out for him." Ruth smiled, and he said, "I believe that's exactly what I wrote in my diary once."
Harry looked down at his coffee cup. "That said, I remember when it was Catherine who was in danger. My desire to protect her clouded my vision badly. And I think, what now, Ruth? If I have to decide whether to put you in harm's way? If it's good for the country, good for the operation, but dangerous for you? I'm not sure the couples scenario applies in the same way. I suppose I'll just have to see how I react if it happens."
Ruth smiled softly at him. "You'll do what you do best, Harry. You'll make the decision that is for the greater good. Even if it involves putting me in harm's way."
Now he did get up from the table and walk around to her. Taking her hand, he pulled her up into his arms. The two of them, twins wrapped in terry, he thought. If they could see us on the Grid now. "I love that I have someone to worry about me, Ruth. It might make me take better care of myself."
"I've always worried about you." Ruth reached up and kissed him, tenderly. As she did, she felt the beginnings of something in the pit of her stomach. A dread, a fear, a feeling somehow that this couldn't last. She pushed it down, and it came right back. Harry saw it in her eyes.
"What?" He brushed her hair away from her face. "What, Ruth? What are you thinking?" He looked slightly alarmed.
Ruth spoke softly, still looking in his eyes. "I would do anything for you, you know." She put her arms around his waist and pulled herself closer to him, taking in the faint scent of lavender that clung to the skin on his chest. "Tell me I deserve this happiness, Harry. Tell me we both do."
Harry frowned, holding her tightly. "Of course we do. What's brought this on, Ruth?" He pulled away from her, concerned. "What are you feeling?"
"Like … Like something is going to take you away from me, Harry." Ruth shook her head. "Silly, I was just wishing you had gotten the DG's job. Get you safely behind a desk where I can keep an eye on you." Ruth was smiling now, but Harry could see she was forcing herself to be sunny, willing herself out of this mood. She pulled on the tie to his robe and said, "Come on, let's get dressed and go out. I want to see Bath with you."




They couldn't have asked for a more beautiful Saturday afternoon. It was about three when they finally made their way out of the hotel and walked the Pulteney Road to the bridge. They lingered for a while, not talking, just watching the water of the Avon rushing over the steps, both of them thinking how long it had been flowing, just like this, as the world turned. The Avon of Shakespeare, whose words described so many lovers, just like them.
Wordlessly, they moved on, wandering through the shops on the Bridge, until Harry caught Ruth gazing just a bit longer at some tiny silver alphabet charms in little boxes on a shelf. He moved behind her and looked. She had picked up the H and the R and was holding them together, but they were so small that it was hard to read the letters until he rested his head on her shoulder.
Ruth turned and looked at him, her eyes full of love. She wore, as always, her necklace, the one with the ivory pendant that she seemed never to take off. That and her silver and ruby rings were the only pieces of jewellery she ever wore, gifts from her maternal grandmother on her sixteenth birthday. As she held Harry's eyes, she moved the two small charms up to her neck, off to the side of her necklace, and held them there, smiling at him. Unless he got very close, he would never know what the letters were. He smiled back at her and nodded.
Twenty minutes later, the jeweller brought Ruth's necklace out to her, holding it up so that she could see. The tiny H and R were now attached, so closely that they fell against each other and in among the other charms. Ruth smiled at the jeweller, and said, "Thank you." She took it from him and handed it to Harry, lifting her hair. Harry clasped the necklace at the back, and leant to kiss the small charms. "I love you," he said gently into her neck, and Ruth shivered slightly at the contact.
Harry paid the jeweller and they walked out in silence, their hearts full of the awareness that this was another moment, another secret they kept only for themselves. He would never look at her necklace again without knowing that this emblem of their love was against her skin in that spot he so loved to kiss.
They walked on, making their way to the Royal Crescent, still looking much like it did at the end of the 18th century, with its Georgian town houses and semi-circular lawn. They talked of everything, history, architecture, the monarchy, all with an effortlessness, with the ease of old and dear friends. It didn't surprise either of them that they were of a mind on so many subjects. It was what they had felt subliminally for years, dating back to Ruth's initial comment on that first day about the Home Office, and Harry's surprised and delighted answer of "If only."
People were strolling everywhere, with the usual mix of international tourists, cameras in hand. Ruth was aware, once again, of how much she loved this country, her England. And of course, it was always impossible for Ruth to walk the Royal Crescent without feeling herself entirely in the middle of a Jane Austen novel. But, she thought today, it was a very different experience for her as she walked with Harry.
She realised that her walks alone or with a friend had always seemed to put her in mind of the somewhat melancholy Austen passages, the unrequited love, misunderstandings, and denial that were staples of her heroines. Now, with Harry on her arm, she found herself inhabiting all the sought-after endings, the happy ones, where the boy finally gets the girl.
The dread that she had felt earlier, that had come over her so suddenly, left in the same fashion. Ruth reminded herself that even the man who goes off each day to the bank can be found by an errant black cab as he steps off the curb. And at his desk, Harry was definitely in less danger than an agent in the field like Adam or Zaf.
On they walked, visiting the Roman Baths and stopping in Bath Abbey, the last Gothic church in England, impressively large, with exceptionally beautiful stained glass windows. They walked through the church and Ruth lit a candle, whispering to Harry that it was for happiness, a wish that someone, somewhere, could feel as she felt today. Harry wanted to take the trip up the Abbey tower, and they were rewarded with a spectacular view of Bath from the top, just as the sun was beginning its move toward the horizon.
They made their way to a field of grass on a hill, overlooking the Avon. There were people there, but not many, and Harry found a spot under a tree with a view to the setting sun. They sat for a time, and then Ruth laid back, looking at the blue sky and its skittering clouds through the whispering leaves of the tree overhead. Harry stretched out, too, his head resting against his hand, sideways, looking at her.
She turned to him, and thought how wonderfully ordinary they must look to those around them. This man in the casual shirt, jeans and trainers, and this woman in blouse, skirt and kicked-off sandals. Lying here on the grass in Bath, clearly in love.
Ruth moved closer to him, and laid her head on his shoulder, pulling his arm around her. He held her, warm in his arms, and gently kissed her hair, her forehead, her cheeks, and then her lips. Ruth murmured what she was thinking. "We could be any couple in the world, Harry. The banker and the shopgirl. Nothing more ominous going on in our lives than how to balance the cheque book and what to fix for dinner."
He pulled away and looked at her. "Is that what you want, Ruth?" He knew it wasn't what he had to offer, and doubted it ever would be.
Ruth smiled at him. "God, no, Harry. I love the work we do. I'd go slowly round the bend in that life. I'm just lying here thinking that these are the people we protect every day. They don't know how many times we've saved their cheque books and their dinners, and I guess it's better that way, really."
"Preserve the status quo." Harry spoke his version of MI5's mission. "We do our best to keep them from knowing how fragile this life is." The sky above them was beginning to change from blue to purple to pink, the edges of the clouds picking up the slanted rays of the sun. They lay and watched for a while as it transformed before their eyes, the cool of the grass beneath them, the short blades tickling their arms.
Both were thinking the same thing. We go back tomorrow. How quickly they had adapted to this new life together. Suddenly this one seemed the real one, and their life on the Grid was the legend, the superficial life that belonged in a box. Harry pulled Ruth close to him and held her there. "I love you," he said fervently, into her hair. Ruth heard everything in those words, the depth of his love for her, and all the regrets mixed with the realistic understanding that this was the life they had chosen, long before they chose each other. Just as if he'd said it, Ruth heard it, and so she answered him, "We'll be fine, Harry. We can do this. We can tell people or not tell people, whatever you like, but we can have this, I know it."
His voice was soft in her ear. "Before this week-end, do you know how many days I had taken off work? Really taken away from work, away from home, from London? Not travel for work, but for pleasure? Four, Ruth. Four, as nearly as I can count. And none of them like this. In twelve and a half years as Section Head."
He pulled away and looked at Ruth, her face so soft in the fading light. "And I can't wait to do it again. Next week-end, if we can. And whilst that is the most fantastic thought in the world to me right now, I wonder, how do I do my job? " He smiled and kissed her, tenderly. "If I'm always mooning over you, my Ruth, how will I do my job?"
Ruth turned over on her stomach and looked into his eyes, although the light was disappearing fast. "Are you really worried about that, Harry?"
He sighed and began to say something, then stopped, then spoke. "No. Yes. Well, a bit, I suppose. It's hard to know right now, with you left, right and centre of my thoughts. I've always stolen looks at you, known where you were, but now, Christ." Harry laughed softly. "Now I'll be seeing you bloody naked on the Grid, and wondering when I can have you again."
Ruth smiled and moved forward to kiss him. She whispered softly into his ear, "Well, then, we will have to de-sensitise you, Harry. We'll have each other so often and so thoroughly that you'll be saying to yourself, 'Oh, cripes, here she comes again!'"
Harry laughed and pulled her next to him, circling her with his arms. "Not bloody likely. But now as you've mentioned it, that would help. De-sensitisation. Excellent solution." He kissed her and then said, "Shall we get started with my indoctrination?"
Ruth pushed him away gently. "Not until you feed me. I'm hungry again."
Harry smiled at her. "Where do you put it? Certainly not in that magnificent body of yours." He nuzzled her neck, not wanting to move.
Ruth sat up. "I need to keep my strength up, Harry. It's in your best interests that I do." She took his hand and pulled him up with her. "Feed me, please."
Harry brushed the grass off his jeans, and then turned to do the same with her skirt, spending a little more time than was necessary, she noticed. "Thank you, Harry, that'll do," she said, laughing. He took her hand. "So. Where for dinner?"
"The Jazz Café. I saw it as we passed. They have a trio playing tonight. How does that sound?"
Harry nodded. "It sounds wonderful. As long as dancing isn't required. If there's dancing, you shall do it, and I shall watch."
~~~~~

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

They shared the Moroccan Pork Skewers and a full-sized Avocado and Bacon Salad, nibbling off each other's plates like bohemians. They had to speak loudly to be heard over the brilliant jazz trio, and they laughed often. They might as well be in Morocco, Ruth thought, because they seemed as far away from home as they could be. Worlds away from the Ruth and Harry who walked through their days wanting, living for weeks on just a look or a word from each other.
This time, they shared a good bottle of Merlot, and the passionate dusty flavour, musky and deep, seemed to fit their mood. They now had a depth of knowledge of each other, a new memory of the other's body, and the understanding that they would have another long night to enjoy together.
The trio took a break, and the room quieted. Ruth smiled at Harry across the flickering candle. "This is what it would be like, isn't it? Travelling together? On The Grand Tour?"
"Yes, just as I imagined. And I described you perfectly that night, Ruth. A little clumsy, I'll admit, but I couldn't think of any other way to tell you." Now he finally had the chance to ask her what he had wondered, although it seemed so long ago. "Why did you look so sad, when I described you? You knew, didn't you, that it had to be you?"
Ruth again picked up her napkin and began folding it, and Harry smiled. This time, he reached across as he'd wanted to do then, and put his hand over hers.
She didn't answer right away, and when she did, her voice was soft. "Do you know how you can want something for so long, can crave it, and then, when it comes within your reach, you're frightened, and pull back? That's what I did, Harry. My mind was saying, 'It's me. He's talking about me.' And suddenly I was terrified. And then I second-guessed, and thought I'd only imagined you were describing me. I wanted to be able to re-run the conversation, to be sure you weren't just being playful, or teasing. It was too important." She looked up at him. "And then the moment was gone. I'd missed it."
Harry entwined his fingers with hers, understanding completely. "We've had a lot of those moments, Ruth. Both of us. I should have kissed you that night in the hallway, when you told me about the MD reader? I almost did. I was so proud of you, so in awe of what you'd done with Angela. I knew how you felt, exhilarated and ashamed at the same time." His deep brown eyes held hers for a moment. "And you can't possibly imagine how beautiful you were, so angry, so passionate in the blue light of that hallway."
Ruth laughed, "Oh, Harry, how foolish we've been. I almost kissed you in that bloody hallway! A millimetre from either of us and we might have been the scandal of the Grid. I was alternately kicking myself and horrified at how close I was to doing it. I had to plaster myself against that wall. My hands were shaking, and I was sure you could see it."
They each took another sip of wine, and Ruth thought, Now that I'm at it, why not ask it all? "And what about the bus, Harry?"
Harry looked down at his hands, remembering. "Ah, yes, the bus. That was a time of great introspection for me. Suddenly without a job, the job that had been my life for as long as I could remember. I was doing a lot of reassessing, Ruth."
He took the bottle from the table and poured a glass for Ruth and topped off his own. "I was so glad it was you that I was to meet, because it was you that I wanted so much to see right then. Course, I spoilt that too. Said nothing I'd intended to. Fear of failure can be paralysing if you let it, and my guard was down." Harry's voice went deeper, softer. "It was you that I was thinking about."
"And what did you intend to say, Harry?" She looked at him shyly, questioning.
Harry paused for a moment, and then spoke. "I wanted to tell you that I'd been thinking a lot about my life. That if a man's job goes away and he has nothing, really, but daytime television, and the race track, and a small, but very inarticulate dog to fill his time, then something is wrong." Harry swirled the wine in his glass. "I wanted to tell you that I missed seeing you. That you had become a part of my days so much by increments, that I hadn't noticed until you weren't there, and I felt the loss deeply."
When he looked up, Ruth's eyes were glistening, nearly filling. "Oh, Harry. How I wish you had."
"And when it was over, and I stepped on the Grid again, you were the first person I wanted to see." He laughed softly, remembering. "And I looked over at your desk fully expecting it to be empty, and by God, there you were. Like a mirage for a thirsty man. Looking so bloody beautiful in that light. A proper angel, Ruth." Harry paused for a moment, then shook his head. "And what did I say to you, with my heart so full in that moment? 'I need to read some files.' Some files."
Harry smiled at her, sadly. "Never thought of myself as a man unable to express himself when I feel something strongly. And there I stood, tongue-tied."
Now Ruth did brush her hand across her cheek to catch a small tear. "You're telling me now, Harry. That's all that matters. And you're saying it quite beautifully."
"That was a hard time." He smiled at her. "Thanks for the casseroles, by the way. I was, in fact, living off crisps and canned tuna when they arrived."
Ruth put her head in her hand, and laughed. "God, it felt shameless to send you those. So personal, so intimate, to think I was cooking something, and you would eat it, there in your house. But I couldn't bear it. It was all I could do to not just show up on your doorstep, Harry." She looked at him, from under her lashes. "I missed you terribly." After a pause, she went on. "So, on the bus. You felt it too, then. I didn't just imagine it?"
"Our hands? Christ, yes. Practically had sex right there on the bloody rail!" They both laughed now, remembering. "A bit of pent-up desire, do you think? Completely sordid, and on public transportation, no less." He took her hand now and held it, but this time, he didn't let go. Both smiled as their laughter quieted.
Harry looked up at her. "We made do with so little for so long, Ruth."
"Never again, Harry. I may not be able to throw my arms around you and tell you what you mean to me on the Grid, but you must know that I always will later. Whenever we're forced to hold back, we'll know that it's only a postponement. Just say to yourself, 'Later.' And so will I."
Harry's eyes were soft. "Later. I'll remember that."
As Ruth looked across at him, her heart filled. The memories had made her tired of waiting. She drank the rest of her wine in one gulp, and sighed. "Now, Harry," she said softly.
Harry smiled and raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to whisper to her. "You're contradicting yourself, Ruth."
"Very observant. Yes, that's correct. " She repeated, still holding his eyes, this time more forcefully, "Now, Harry. No more waiting."




Harry closed the door behind him. Last night they had been like virginal newlyweds, nervous and tentative. Tonight they knew what awaited them, and their new familiarity allowed them to frantically fumble with buttons, snaps and zips while they kissed, laughing, barely inside the door. The trail of clothes, which they would see much later, led in virtually a straight line from the door to the bed, with only a thrown shirt and a shoe askew to break it.
Harry's stamina was greatly improved by the luxuriously stress-free day, the relaxing dinner, and the fact that he had exercised precious little self-denial in the last twenty-four hours. Ruth was no less his object of desire, in fact, he wanted her even more, but his body no longer had years to make up for. Now he could play, he thought, he could tease. This was the night he spoke about in the alcove. I want to have the time to explore every inch of you without interruption.
Finally freed of their clothes, they managed a safe landing on the bed, scrambling then to push the covers down and find the cool smoothness of the sheets. They twined together, four legs and four arms indistinguishable in the soft light, as if they couldn't get close enough, and Harry found her lips again. Ruth sighed as they slowed, and held there, almost unable to tell where she ended and he began, her hands running over the skin of his arms, his lower back, the cleft there and then the rise below it, then his thighs.
She saw the shape of his body as she felt it, strong and soft at the same time. All this wonderful skin, she thought giddily, hidden under his clothes all that time. What a pleasure to touch him, to have him beneath her fingers. How could she ever see him again and not know the treasure that was underneath, not remember the feel of him.
She felt his chest against her breasts, and he moved, slowly, creating just the barest friction between their bodies. She felt the tingle that told her she was rising to meet him, and he broke away gently from the kiss. She hadn't removed her necklace, and his lips went directly there, to the side that he knew contained the charms. He kissed them again as he had before, but this time, he lingered, his tongue tracing tiny circles on her neck, his breath deliciously warm and tropical on her ear.
As the heat rose on their skin, she noticed, as Harry did, that the aroma of lavender was also rising. It wafted from both of them, reminding them of what they had done earlier, increasing their hunger for each other. Harry moved slowly across her neck, to the graceful hollow just above her breastbone, tasting her. Then his lips moved down and across her breasts, so soft, fluttering. Again, she saw his lips as she felt them, full and round.
Harry's lips. Oh, the hours of thought she'd had about those lips. His was a man's mouth, but so sensual, so soft, that it seemed always to fight the toughness he wanted so much to present to the world. She had wondered how he felt about them, if he knew how he looked when he concentrated, how they thrust out, full, inviting, as he pondered such terrible questions.
She had imagined herself touching them, with her fingertips, or even, she had thought then with a blush, moving just inches and pressing her own lips to them. A thousand times, as he leant over her shoulder to look at her computer screen, or stood next to her with a file for her to read, and, yes, in the hallway as he whispered, his breath warm on her cheek, "Return it." And now, she thought in wonder, those lips, Harry's very own lips, were kissing her breast, teasing her nipple between them, and the sensation was everything she had dreamt it would be.
Ruth leant her head back on the pillow and sighed, her fingers threading through his hair, resting finally on the soft curls at his neck. She could feel the movements of his head as he kissed her, and she trailed her fingers along his ears, his jaw, and then to the place where his lips touched her skin, as if she were blind and seeing him only through her hands. And now she knew she wanted his lips on hers. Dipping her head lower, she took his chin and raised him up until she found them.
He'd planned on spending more time right where he was, but Ruth managed to slide down his body in such a way that he was caught, and suddenly they were facing each other, on their sides. She looked at him in the soft light, his skin golden, and his eyes so tender on her. She held his face, framed between her hands.
"I love you, Harry." Her voice was low, and raw with emotion. She kissed him, tenderly, grazing his lips so that she could enjoy them completely, feel their fullness. His mouth was so warm, and the scent of lavender was intoxicating. She parted her lips into a kiss that was overflowing with the love she was feeling, her sighs feathering his cheek. Then she pulled away to breathe, and Ruth spoke softly into his mouth, "I want you right here, kissing me. I've wanted that for so long. Right here." She moved her mouth back to his, gently.
Ruth pressed against him, lower, feeling the stiffness there, and entwined her legs with his. She knew she could have him when she wanted, but for right now, she only wanted his warm skin against her own, moving, cadenced, rhythmic, as she kissed him. She knew that he was feeling her warmth too, as he grew harder still against her. They both sighed further into the kiss.
Last night had all been new, but tonight held a comfort, a familiarity to it as their hands explored each other's bodies. They knew the geography, although the landscape was no less stunning to them. Their mouths and their hips remained fused, moving unhurriedly as their hands roamed. Across bones and muscles, hair and face, traversing skin with its tautness and its folds, fingertips and nails exploring tenderly, inch by inch.
It seemed to Ruth that they stayed like that for an eternity, softly sighing against each other's lips, and that was what she wanted. She had never done this before, and neither had Harry. Never taken the time to do this. They each knew that when they needed it, it would be a simple step, just a fraction of a movement, but for now they made love to each other's bodies, and love is what it felt like. They learned about each other, in wonder and awe that so many dreams had crystallised into this exquisite reality.
But of course it wasn't meant to last forever, and they could feel the sensations growing for both of them by slow and deliciously agonising degrees, their breath rising and falling with the gentle motion of Ruth's hips. The movement was expanding toward something, something they both began to feel as a destination, rather than just the journey there.
Harry felt it begin to happen, first at her mouth, as she lost a measure of concentration and her lips tightened slightly on his, and then a soft moan as she moved more urgently. He wanted to feel it, wanted to be a part of it, so he willed himself to stay present, waiting until just the moment before, and he moved over her and entered her, gently. She cried out softly, and he felt the tremors surround him, surprising him with their intensity. He finally abandoned his own control, and let the waves take him completely, one after another.
He lay there for a time, not wanting to move, as they breathed together, warm, with the taste of lavender in the air around them. But he felt his own weight on Ruth as his mind began to clear. Harry rolled over to his side, still joined with her, holding her tightly and stroking her hair as their breath calmed.
Harry was so full of emotion that he wasn't sure he could speak, but there was so much he wanted to say. He wanted to thank Ruth for giving herself so completely, to tell her he had never felt like this before in his life. And he wanted her to know that he never intended to let her go. But he didn't trust himself, because he actually felt the emotion so strongly in his chest, he was afraid it would convert to tears. The ones he felt stinging in his eyes right now.
He had given up on this. This would never happen for him. He had let it go completely, the way one rationalises and pretends a lack of desire for a prize out of reach. He was beyond the passion, the release this type of connection entails, he was a different sort of animal, not meant to be in love. Not meant to possess or be possessed by any woman. All of these fallacies were pressing in on him as he held Ruth.Lies, every one of them.
He took hold of her face, tenderly, the space between them still filled with the heat of their bodies. His eyes, Ruth thought. These were the eyes of the corridor at Havensworth. They laid him bare, his heart open, vulnerable, handed to her for safe-keeping. Any will he might have had to protect it had vanished, and she felt the weight and the responsibility of the gift he was giving. What she didn't know was that she was looking in a mirror, and that her eyes were saying the same thing to him.
Together, they accepted the gift. Their mouths travelled the minute distance between them and touched, as both said at the same time, "I love you." He was still inside her, Ruth thought, his physical presence, yes, but also in such a profound way.
They were both thinking the same thing. Nothing can touch this. No outside influence, no person, nothing. They would never doubt each other again. The earth and everything on it can vaporise, and this will remain.




Ruth looked at the clock again. 11:16 now, and they still hadn't moved. The sun was high in the sky, check out time was noon, and they had neither dressed nor packed. They had showered together in the early morning and barely managed to get the soap rinsed off before getting to the bed and making love again.
Their robes lay crumpled on the floor, necessary only for the short period of time that decorum dictated as their breakfast was brought in, exactly the same as yesterday. It was the same porter as well, and he thought the desk girl was wrong, these were newlyweds, or he was in the wrong ruddy line of work.
Now, Ruth lazily popped a grape in her mouth, moving then to offer one to Harry, who shook his head, groaning. "No more. Please, God. I'll burst." He was reading the paper again, but this time, it was propped on his naked stomach as he laid on the bed, and Ruth had the advantage of the view above and below the paper.
Not to mention that he had thrown caution to the wind and shown her something just as private. His reading glasses. Rather than squinting through the paper as he had yesterday, he had parked the ego that told him he was far too young for them, and put the glasses firmly on his nose. Ruth happened to love how they looked, and she told him so. "Brings back all of my University professor fantasies, Harry," she whispered.
So now he wore glasses, the morning paper, what God gave him, and nothing else.
Ruth smiled as she looked at him, thinking at least she had the modesty to pull the sheet up to her waist as she did the crossword. Harry, her Harry. How she loved him. Oblivious to the picture he presented.
He had obviously entered her brain at this last thought, because he turned and looked at her. "What?" he said, peering at her over his glasses.
Ruth laughed and put the paper down, her eyes travelling the length of his body. Harry looked back at himself, and used the paper as a tent, showing a little more modesty. "No laughing, Ruth. You could damage me permanently. What's so damned funny?"
Her answer was a kiss, as she snuggled down into the sheet and moved next to him. "You are more precious to me than life itself, Harry."
He threw the paper on the floor and turned to her, snatching the glasses off his nose. "Well, that's more like it." He kissed her. "And what do you want to do today, my love?"
Ruth smiled at him, her eyebrows raised. "Harry, we have to leave! We have, what, about forty minutes now to clear out of here, and we haven't budged!"
Harry kissed her. "I'm feeling rich today. We'll stay another night."
"Have you forgotten that the world has been turning while we've been here? We might be needed, you know."
"I've read the paper. No one misses us." Harry took her in his arms and kissed her, gently at first, and then more insistently. Ruth sighed against him and felt her will beginning to dissolve, but then she found it again.
"Harry. If we're both gone mysteriously on a Monday morning, it will be noticed." She pulled back and saw him thinking. He looked into her eyes for a moment, and then he sighed.
"All right, but you must agree to a compromise."
Ruth smiled. "Let me hear the terms."
Harry looked tenderly at her. "You have a bag packed already. The cats are cared for. Tonight, you sleep in my bed. You come home with me."
~~~~~

No comments:

Post a Comment