CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Oliver was already seated when Harry walked into the large dining room. With his jacket off, which was puzzling to Harry, until Mace stood to greet him.
"Harry." Oliver stretched out his hand.
"Oliver." Harry shook it.
"Take your jacket off."
So it's to be cloak and dagger, is it? Harry looked at Oliver incredulously. "Oh for goodness sake."
"Your jacket, Harry, you could be wearing a wire."
Not one other gentleman in the club was without a jacket. "Is it allowed?" Harry asked, looking around.
Oliver loved this kind of question, as it gave him permission to act self-important. "They'll make an exception." Harry handed his jacket to the waiter and got a ticket in return. Mace seated himself. "Good. Now we can talk."
Harry sat across from Mace and willed himself into tranquillity. In fact, the more angry he became, the more outward calm he showed. He knew he was in the weaker position, and as a result of that, Harry resolved to simply wait and see what Oliver had to say. After water was poured and the waiter had taken their orders, Oliver took a deep breath and began talking.
"Oh, please. Don't start talking about the Americans." The last thing Harry wanted to listen to right now was a lecture on international intelligence practices from Oliver Mace.
"Everybody wants you to come on the inside of the circle. Join us." So there it was. The offer. Oliver hadn't wasted any time.
Before thinking, Harry said, "You must be joking." He had almost laughed. Mace was offering it like it was some kind of bloody prize. As if Harry had been accepted into a marvellously exclusive club.
Harry had used a sardonic tone that Mace obviously didn't appreciate. "Now, you may doubt our methods, but see if this persuades you. The planned attack from Acts of Truth? A major sports stadium. Several devices capable of inflicting mass murder."
Mace paused for dramatic effect, but Harry was unimpressed, so he continued, "What? Would you have preferred that we had never found out? Two thousand odd lives for a little discomfort?"
"Discomfort?" Harry's eyes went wide at the euphemism. Let's try it on you, Oliver, and see how comfortable you are. "Fifty thousand volts through your body, discomfort? Or is it dogs, Oliver? Is that your preferred method? Alsatians biting at men's genitals?" Harry spoke with all the sarcasm he was feeling. "What is it that gets them talking?"
Mace at least looked slightly abashed. "I'm not saying that it's ideal, but what else can we do? Sit back and let this country take hit after hit?"
"We find civilized ways, as we have before." Harry knew he was stalling. He had no hope of changing Oliver's mind. He simply didn't have an answer yet.
"Harry, you know as well as I do we were torturing people in Kensington during the second World War."
All Harry could think about was Ruth. What he could possibly say that would keep her from prison. This philosophical discussion was grating on Harry's last nerve, so he needed simply to ask the question. "So what is my choice? Join in this new nightmare? Or watch Ruth be thrown to the lions?"
Mace took a deep breath and gave what he thought of as a welcoming smile. Harry would have described it in another way entirely, as openly predatory. "Think of it as an invitation. An opportunity."
And then Mace jauntily added the bit that nearly put Harry over the edge. "Save Ruth and join a club." It took every bit of self-control Harry had not to put his butter knife directly into Oliver Mace's black heart.
Adam had been right. Maudsley's building was surrounded by Special Branch, and in added measure by countless plods. Ruth and Adam had moved very carefully around it so as not to be seen. Ruth didn't know what she was looking for, but she still felt there was something here that she had missed.
"One more time, Adam," she said to him, as he glanced at his watch again. Ruth knew that time was slipping by, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was here.
Adam had gotten binoculars from the car, and was using them to move up and down the building. Finally, he handed them to Ruth. She scanned upwards, and was stopped by some magnificent ruby-red flowers in a window-box. Just above was a piece of paper, about the size of regular copy paper, attached to the side of the building. It had what looked to be a black-and-white drawing on it.
Ruth gasped. "Offa! Adam, there's a picture of Offa in the window. I can't believe I didn't see that before." Ruth was visibly excited. Adam had no idea what she was talking about, but she was walking now, quickly, and Adam followed her, asking the question, "And he is?"
"An obsession of mine, he was King of Mercia in the 8th century. I wrote a thesis on him, and the site of his palace, known now as Wood Street. That's the real drop Maudsley left for me." Ruth was running now, and Adam was running to keep up with her.
They alternately ran and walked until they found the church, standing as a piece of history in among tall, glass office buildings. Adam went immediately to the wooden door, but it was locked. "Go around the back," he said to Ruth, and she ran, following the line of the building. Adam went the other way, and met her as she came around.
"It could be anywhere," Adam said, his breath coming in quick bursts from their run.
"No, no, not anywhere." Ruth went to the brass plaque that told of the building's history, and began to run her hands under it. "It's here. Here." She put her fingers delicately below the plaque and pulled out a tiny sheet of microfiche. "I've got it, I've got it."
Ruth looked at the small black rectangle with wonder. For over twenty-four hours, she had known something was true. For nearly all of that time, people had told her it wasn't. Now she knew, without a doubt, that Maudsley had been leading her here. As she cradled the tiny plastic sheet in her hands, covering it for safekeeping, Maudsley's voice finally, blessedly, went silent in her head.
"Come on," Adam said, as he led her to the car park. When they reached the car, he said, "There's a microfiche reader under the passenger seat."
Ruth pulled it out and sat, placing the microfiche in the reader. She put her eye to it while Adam watched.
"Okay, minutes for a meeting." She read the words Internal Briefing Minutes.
"What's on the agenda?" Adam asked.
"Hang on, I'm just trying to ... Top Secret. Eyes Only. Bloody hell. You were right. Extradition and Special Interrogation Measures. Otherwise known as torture. Cotterdam's mentioned, there's other places."
"Who's on the guest list?"
"Maudsley. MI6, Special Branch, Military Intelligence, someone from the government." Ruth paused, her voice going softer, "Oh, my God. There's someone here from MI5 too." She looked up at Adam. "Our section."
"Who?"
"It's just a code name. No department." Ruth put her eye back to the reader, "It says, 'Section D – Fox.'" She turned her eyes back up to Adam, questioning.
"That's impossible. Somebody must have put that in to stop us exposing them."
Suddenly, Ruth realised how serious this was. The fact that they had added someone from MI5 to the list of those attending made it seem much more dangerous for her. Mace could say anything now. Ruth looked up at Adam. "What do we do with it?"
"Can't do anything without calling Harry." Adam pressed Harry's number into his mobile, and waited as it rang.
If Adam could have seen, he would have known that Harry's mobile was safely tucked in his jacket, which was securely hung in the cloakroom at Mace's club. In fact, Adam would be the next person to touch Harry's mobile, after the series of events that had already been set in motion.
Finally, Adam clicked off. "Where the hell is he? We can't move with all this surveillance."
Ruth knew she was putting the operation in danger now. And she knew that her usefulness had just expired with the discovery of the drop. "The surveillance won't stop until I'm arrested," she said softly. She couldn't even look at Adam.
"That's it. We'll get you arrested." Ruth was surprised that he said it with so little feeling, but she was ready now. She had found the drop, and Maudsley's voice was gone from her head. But now Adam was walking around the car, "Zaf, you still there? Get a message to Ros." Adam started the car, and made his way to the exit of the garage.
After telling Zaf what he needed, they were out on the road. Adam turned to Ruth, who was still trying to reach Harry. "Anything?"
Ruth shook her head. "No answer." She was starting to get a very uncomfortable feeling about Harry. He always answered his phone, and he would especially answer a call today from her. She knew he was waiting for this information.
"Try him again," Adam said.
"No, still no answer." The uncomfortable feeling was now turning to fear. He had been so angry with Mace, and so vulnerable this morning.Oh, Harry. "God, where is he?"
Adam kept his eyes on the road as he spoke to her. "He was supposed to be meeting Mace."
Mace would want it to be on his turf. "Um ... okay, Mace's club." Now Ruth was sure of it. "They'll be there."
Doesn't this woman own any hats? Ros worked her way through a rack and two closets before she found one that would marginally do. She put the black cap, which looked to be early-Beatles vintage, over her blond hair and pulled up the collar of Ruth's camel coloured coat. Actually, this would be rather fun, Ros thought, leading the plods and Special Branch on a little chase. But she did think it ironic that she was hoping to get arrested for something she thought Ruth had done.
She took a deep breath and opened the front door. Keeping her head down and holding the coat tightly around her, Ros went down the steps and walked quickly to the left. She could hear the sudden flurry of activity around her, and thought she might have even heard a radio.All units apprehend on sight.
Then a police car, sirens, and a gun trained on her head. Lovely way to start the morning, thought Ros. Bloody Ruth. Hope you appreciate this.
It was just occurring to Harry, as he watched Oliver on the phone, that his mobile was in his jacket. That Ruth and Adam may be trying to reach him. That something might be wrong. He had been so taken aback when Oliver asked him to remove his jacket, that he had let it go without retrieving his phone.
And as Harry watched Mace listen, there was a look of triumph that was beginning to spread over Oliver's face. Very subtle, but triumph nonetheless. A look that said he had won. And Harry realised he was flying blind.
"Good." Oliver put the phone on the silver tray proffered by the waiter. "Thank you." Oliver took a long pause, but with his eyes firmly on Harry. Finally, Harry raised his eyebrows in a question, and Mace told him. "Ruth's been arrested trying to escape. She's been charged with murder. Twelve years. Ten, if she's lucky."
There it was. The kick to the gut, delivered by Mace himself, smug, superior, and holding all the cards. Something had gone terribly wrong. Somehow, Ruth and Adam had been found, and Harry watched as one by one every option disappeared. Now Harry was stalling for time, his mind racing, needing somehow to re-deal the hand.
Harry's voice was low, and seemed calm, measured. Inside he was smouldering, the heat rising to dangerous levels. As he spoke, he was juggling his anger and a frantic search for a solution. "Were you so afraid of being passed over, Oliver? I thought you were braver than that." And then, blessedly, an idea came to him. The only way to save Ruth was to put someone in her place in that jail cell. Himself.
"Oh, Harry, this character deconstruction is all very interesting, but you still haven't answered my question."
Harry began setting it up, slowly. As if he were working it through, and Oliver just happened to be listening. He wanted to sound rather mad, actually. The more mad, the better. So he fairly growled his thoughts, all the while outwardly placid, serene.
"What if I play neither strategy? What if I say, Ruth did push Maudsley, but I asked her to do it? What if the rogue officer is me?"
The effect was just what Harry wanted. Oliver was looking slightly worried. "It doesn't add up."
Mace now looked downright nervous. "Don't be so bloody stupid."
Harry was almost whispering now. Menacing but calm. A frightening combination, and Harry could see that Oliver was feeling it. "All I need to do is get the waiter to call the police. Make enough fuss as I go down. Smash a few tables as I tell my tale. There must be three or more journalists within shouting distance of this building. I left my real name at reception. Try silencing that."
Oliver Mace stared across the table at him, thinking that Harry Pearce was either a lunatic or a genius. He thought he knew which he would prefer, but either way, he realised that he now had the possibility of losing, and that thought had not been a part of his plans for quite some time. He had to admit he hadn't bargained on Harry loving Ruth to quite this extent.
In Oliver's handbook was the doctrine: when in doubt, stare. He knew that people liked to fill a long silence, and they usually filled it with something that hurt them. He had an irksome suspicion that in Harry, however, he may have met his match. So, without a clear thought in his head, he stared. And added a smirk for good measure, trying to put the ball firmly in Harry's court.
Oliver knew that Harry didn't often smile. Actually, as he sat across the table from him, Oliver was trying to remember the last time he had seen Harry really smile. But now he was smiling, an enormous smile by Harry standards, and yes, he had even let a laugh escape. Not a mirthful laugh, mind you, but an ironic, derisive laugh that put a bit of a chill down Oliver's neck.
"You don't think I will, do you?" Harry picked up Mace's cigar, the lit end toward Oliver, glowing red. "You don't think I've got it in me." Slowly, Harry lowered the bright end toward Mace's hand.
Mace kept his eyes on Harry's, refusing to flinch, despite a growing concern for Harry's sanity. "Frankly, no." But as he felt the heat from the cigar come dangerously close to his hand, he hit it away and on to the floor.
"Can't take the heat." Harry picked up his water glass, and swirled the liquid around before throwing the entire glassful in Oliver's face. "Better cool you down."
Mace sputtered and laughed, as he wiped the water off of his face. Now Harry had gone too far. But he had achieved his aim. Oliver really did think he would do anything now. But Oliver would not give up his advantage. "You need the police to be called. Not simply security to put you out on the street like a drunkard."
So be it. "Very well, then the police it is." In one rapid move, Harry smashed the crystal water glass on the side of the table and slashed at Oliver's forearm with the shards remaining on the stem, from top left to bottom right, putting a gash in it from his cufflinks to his elbow. Mace cried out.
Harry thought the amount of blood was actually quite impressive. And although he knew there would be a price to pay, he really did feel so much better.
Adam drove fast against the curb, just down the street from Mace's club. Zaf came out from a doorway, walking toward them.
"What's happened?" Adam jumped out of the car and ran toward Zaf.
"Harry's been arrested."
"Why?" Adam walked around behind the car to meet Zaf. Ruth was listening, but really, she was looking for Harry. She wanted to see that he was okay.
"He's attacked Mace. Looks like he's taken the rap for Maudsley's murder. He's trying to save Ruth."
Oh, no, Harry. No. Ruth turned to Zaf, unbelieving. "Please tell me you're kidding."
Adam looked up toward the club. "Oh my God."
Ruth turned. It was true. There was Harry, flanked by two policemen, in handcuffs, being led to a police car. As he rounded the turn toward the door, Harry looked at her. She knew that he recognized Adam's car, and she knew that he saw her clearly. She was too far away to see his eyes, but on his face, for that split second, she saw surprise, then relief.
Zaf said, "No one's been able to reach him all afternoon."
Ruth watched as they guarded his head and sat him in the back of the car. How could he do this? To his work, to his career? For her. She loved him so much, and this was a beautiful, noble gesture, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. Ruth's books didn't do justice to this situation, and she didn't want this sacrifice. She shook her head, watching him. "Stupid, stupid man. I can't believe it." She looked behind her, "Adam?"
Adam, went around to get in his car. "Go back to mine. I'll try to get in to see him."
He had seen her. Sitting in the front seat of Adam's car. Not arrested. Not in jail. Free. And all Harry could think was that he had been played by Oliver Mace. That Mace had said they had Ruth under arrest just to see what he would do. And Harry had fallen for it. I'm losing my touch.
Well, it didn't matter now, did it? Since he had confessed to giving the order for Maudsley's murder, Ruth would be free. She could stop running, and Harry wouldn't see that look in her eyes again. His career was certainly over, but his Ruth would be safe. That was all that had mattered to Harry as he sat across from Mace, and it was all that mattered to him now.
No, not all. Harry would not become one of Mace's cronies, he would not become a part of this new world order that Mace condoned. It might be lack of sleep, or perhaps the feeling of having been in a cage since this whole Maudsley business had started, but a part of Harry now felt free. He felt like he had been in prison whilst he was out there, and now in here, he felt free. Harry gave a low chuckle, letting it echo through the cell. Perhaps he had gone slightly mad.
Harry went to the window, such as it was, and looked out on the yard. How would he cope without being Section Head? He thought wearily that perhaps his time in the service might have run its natural course anyway. He remembered the JIC meeting yesterday, and Mace's supercilious voice, Anyone else support Mr. Pearce's vote of no confidence? I thought not. Shame. Perhaps he was a dinosaur, holding on to precepts of truth and honour in an intelligence world that didn't value those concepts anymore. How long could he stand alone with his finger in the dyke, really?
As Harry paced slowly around the perimeter of the cell, he suddenly remembered his last conversation with Tom Quinn. Tom had made choices that rendered him unsuitable to continue in the service. And now, so had Harry. After ten years of working with Tom, Harry thought he could imagine what he would say to him if he were standing in this cell now. He thought Tom would be proud of this choice. Proud that Harry had chosen to take the guidance of his very human love for Ruth and his stand for human dignity, rather than blind adherence to the service.
Harry had surprised himself then by saying that he envied Tom. It was true, and it was untrue. One of those grey areas that were so prevalent in this work. Harry knew if he had been in Tom's shoes on that day, he would have felt set adrift, with no compass, no map. Harry had only envied him because he could see that the love of being a spy, the urge to be secret, had left Tom. That would be the only way Tom could bear it, Harry thought as he had said goodbye. You realise we'll never meet again. Good luck in the real world.
Harry thought of Tom and Christine. What had that first reunion been like for them? Tom must have gone to her and said those words: I'm free. And if that was the case, that he was now free, what had he been for all those years? And what had Harry been for so many more?
But because of Ruth, Harry could see another side to leaving MI5. There seemed to be a certain exhilaration now in the thought of being set adrift, actually. Freedom. To travel where he wanted, to watch the news and not know what the real story was, to use only one passport for the rest of his life. No false names, no false life. To be free to love someone without constantly worrying for their safety. Or worrying what they would do alone if you were suddenly to disappear.
Harry had always hoped that he wouldn't be one of the sad old-timers that could never leave the service and find a life in the public world. In Bath, he had found that he could be fully contented without the 24/7 intrigue and the danger of the Security Services. Only a week-end, to be sure, but Harry had discovered something about himself there. He had felt once that he and the job were virtually indistinguishable, but he had learnt that wasn't true. In Bath, with Ruth.
Sitting back down on the bunk, Harry wondered what she was thinking right now. She had seen him being put in the police car. Don't do anything stupid, Harry. He grimaced at the thought of how angry she would be. Ruth, who thought of herself as less important than Harry in the grand scheme of things.
She would think she wasn't worthy of his sacrifice, but he would make her understand that he had no choice. Not just for her, but for his integrity. After all these years in the service, after all the decisions he had regretted, he would not regret this one. It was the right decision.
The keys rattled in the door. Harry realised that the only face he wanted to see right now was hers. He wanted Ruth to walk through that door and put her arms around him, and they would begin now. He would tell her his plan, the one he should have told her years ago. And their future would start now.
Harry looked up quickly. Adam. And Harry knew that this was most definitely not what Adam meant by a level head. Harry looked away just as quickly, preparing himself for the recriminating look that he likely deserved from his senior agent. The door closed behind Adam, and although Adam was controlling himself well, Harry got the look with both barrels.
"Harry."
"We had no option. They had every avenue covered. Ruth would have spent the rest of her life in prison." Harry was glad Adam knew how much he loved Ruth. It made this easier somehow, more comprehensible.
"We found the drop." Harry looked up as Adam continued. "Maudsley's drop. We've got the documents. A secret meeting exposing the whole torture scandal."
Harry stood up. Thank God, this is the answer. "Use them. Find a way."
Adam was whispering now, "We can't. Not without implicating you. There's a code name, Fox. Someone from Section D. They put it in as an insurance policy."
That's good, Harry thought. I'm already too far gone. "Use me!"
"No I can't do that."
"Look, we're caught whichever way we turn!" How could he make Adam understand?
"You'll go to prison for condoning torture."
Harry was frantic. He had a feeling they didn't have much time, and that Adam was concerned for his judgement right now. Harry knew he had seemed erratic and hasty, but this was so much bigger. He was begging with Adam, not only for Ruth's freedom, but for anyone who stood against Oliver Mace's team.
"If you don't stop them, they'll go on and on. You must expose those documents, Adam." They would go on torturing. And they would go on blackmailing Harry. It all had to be stopped.
"You don't seem to understand." Adam wasn't sure Harry had heard him clearly. He would go to prison, and for a long time. "Fox" would assure that. But Adam didn't have a chance to explain, because the guard came through the door again.
"Sir. I'm afraid there's now a murder charge been brought against you, Mr. Pearce." He looked at Adam. "I'm sorry, I'm going to need you to leave, sir."
Harry was desperate now. He saw a long night stretching ahead of him with no way to contact anyone from his team. This was his last chance. He spoke firmly to Adam. "You are still one of my operatives. I want you to expose those documents." Adam was shaking his head and turning away. "Adam! It's an order!"
Adam wheeled around and shouted at him. "You're in police custody under suspicion of murder! That makes your orders null and void!" Adam paused, angry, breathing hard. Love was one thing, but he would not lose the best Section Head he had ever known to it. After all, he had loved Fiona, and where had that got him?
Adam found his control, and now his voice was softer. "I can't do it, Harry." Adam went through the door and it closed loudly behind him, the keys rattling in the lock again. Harry heard their footsteps retreat down the hall until all was silence once more.
Now Harry was alone, his eyes darting, searching for answers, and he saw the choices narrow. Prison for him, or prison for Ruth. He sat back on the bed and put his head in his hands. He wanted nothing so much as to be somewhere, anywhere, with her warm in his arms, both of them safe, hidden.
They would think him truly mad, but he could hold it in no longer. Harry threw back his head and released an animal wail of frustration, anger, agony. When the echo died down and his breathing calmed, he spoke her name softly, whispering it to his heart. Ruth.
~~~~~
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
"I've got the answer."
Walking with Zaf and Adam, Ruth had listened in horror as Adam recounted his meeting with Harry. She'd had no idea he was prepared to go this far. First her life was going to be set against the lives of seven men, and Ruth hadn't been able to bear that. She knew now that those men were being tortured, and Harry had added his name to the list of those who would buy her freedom.
All Ruth could think was, This will not happen. And she knew how to prevent it.
Adam had seen the look in Harry's eyes. Nothing would sway him if he was prepared to sacrifice himself for Ruth. "He's ready to sell himself down the river, there's nothing we can do."
Ruth looked up at him, "I step back into the fray. It just says someone from Section D, it doesn't say who. So let it be me. I was Fox." Adam was listening now, as Ruth continued, "You discovered that I was at that meeting. You bring the documents to light." They were still walking toward Adam's house, and now what Ruth was saying was starting to fall into place.
Ruth was talking faster, wanting Adam to think it through. "You discredit Harry's confession as someone looking after a friend, I don't know, a lover," at this, Ruth looked at Adam, quickly. Adam knew she was giving him permission to use anything he knew to save Harry. Ruth went on, "Say what you like, but I pushed Maudsley, because Mace and the others told me to."
Adam stopped and took her arms, looking her in the eyes. "Wait a minute, Ruth. You're running away with yourself. Do you know what you're doing?"
Of course I bloody well know what I'm doing. Don't they know the stakes here? Ruth could hear that she sounded angry, but she would not let Harry do this. "Yeah, I'm making sure we can still expose the torture scandal without Harry being buried with the blame!"
Adam was dumbfounded. He knew now how deep this love went between Harry and Ruth. In the last hour he seen each of them willing to confess to something that would change their lives forever, something they hadn't done. Only for the sake of the other. Only for love. Adam felt that he had been witness to something so powerful, he couldn't quite get his mind around it. He had to ask the question. "What about you?
Ruth stopped, quieted. It was clear to both Adam and Zaf that she hadn't thought of herself at all yet. It had all been for Harry. And although during the last two days Zaf had assumed finally that there was something going on between Harry and Ruth, he knew now that it wasn't ordinary. He looked at her face in the darkness, and saw that it showed a profound love, full of respect. He found himself deeply touched by it, by how heroic Ruth was. He could only hope that someone would feel that way about him someday.
Ruth's voice was suddenly small, scared. They wouldn't let her go to prison, would they? They hadn't let Zoe go to prison. So, if not Chile, then somewhere, with a new name, a new life? Ruth felt the tears begin to form, for her lost self, but it was too soon for that, and she pushed them away. Not now. Later. "Something. A life in a different direction." She turned and started walking again, "I don't know. But don't think about that now."
Zaf had to speak up. "Ruth, this is madness. We can't let you do this."
Ruth turned on her heel and spoke to him. "Well, think of a better solution if you can, because I'll tell you how I see it. Harry goes, and what happens to MI5?" Ruth shook her head, feeling such a weariness come over her. Sleepless nights hadn't helped, but she willed herself back. There would be time to sleep later, too. "This is only round one in an ongoing battle. He has to keep fighting this. The authorities in this country cannot be allowed to intimidate and torture."
Now Adam and Zaf thought she might cry, but then they saw the unmistakable look of love come into her eyes. Love for Harry's courage, for his irreplaceable skill and experience, for the job all three of them knew only he could do. "Harry's the only one that can take on that fight. There's no choice, really, is there? If I can save him, then I will."
Adam was seeing the logic of this, but he wanted her to understand the gravity of what she was choosing. "You're admitting to murder. A murder you didn't do." Ruth looked down, unable to meet his eyes, and Adam said, "You don't have to do this."
" Yes I do." Ruth turned away from him and started walking again.
"Ruth!"
"Adam, don't even try to talk me out of it. You know it's right."
He did know, and so did Zaf. It was a short-term solution to get Harry out of jail. He would be furious with them, but that could be dealt with later, too. And then they would turn all of their energies to helping Ruth. It was the way of their work. Get yourself out of the line of fire, and then strategize.
They both knew that Ruth was out of custody, free, and they would keep her that way. She would need to find a new life, a new direction, but there were more immediate concerns. After spending the day trying to clear Ruth, they needed to spend the night framing her.
Zaf could only think, What a daft bloody job this is.
They had gone to Adam's flat to use his computer, creating a photo to incriminate Ruth. She watched as Zaf skilfully placed her in a chair opposite Mace at his club. So fast, and then it was done.
Ruth looked at the photo. "Easy isn't it?" she said to Zaf, "to throw your whole life away?" Adam paced, trying to think of anything, any way they could do this differently. And he tried to imagine how in bloody hell he was going to tell Harry what they had done. He hoped he could convince him, as he had been convinced by Ruth, that this was the only way.
Now it was truly starting to sink in to Ruth, what she was doing. It didn't shake her determination, but she was seeing the finer points of the sacrifice. "Wonder how I'll be remembered?" She shook her head, smiling sadly, her eyes glistening. "Actually, erase that, for I don't wonder. Murderess. Conspirator. Betrayer."
The only other piece of the puzzle was the witness, the woman at the tube station. Looking up at her flat, Zaf told Ruth, "Jo tracked her down. She was on the platform, but there was no way she could have seen what she said she did. She was bought. Bought to give a false witness statement. She was one of the bastards that set you up in the first place."
"Can you ... um ... Can you say that again?" Suddenly, Ruth needed to know that there was someone, anyone, who knew this was a set up. Who would always know that she was innocent of the accusing words that she felt would follow her forever.
Zaf looked at her, thinking how brave she was. He knew this wasn't something she did every day, like the rest of them. She was far out of her element, but she was doing it for all the right reasons. And Zaf knew she was doing it for Harry. "Look, you're going to be fine, OK?"
Ruth knew she had to do it right now, or she would lose her nerve. "Where's the gun?"
Zaf handed her a gun, wrapped in plastic, which she would also need. "Here."
Ruth unwrapped the gun, but couldn't even look at it. She focused her eyes somewhere just below Zaf's collar. "And they're definitely blanks?"
"Definitely." Ruth nodded, breathing hard. She finally managed to look at the gun. When she looked up toward the flat, she saw the woman walking, with groceries, to her front door. Zaf followed her eyes. "Okay, now's your moment."
Ruth didn't hesitate. She walked as if on remote control, without knowing how her legs were moving. What she was about to do was completely against her nature, and she felt her hands shaking as she went up in the lift. She closed her eyes and spoke softly, "Harry, please help me. Help me do this."
And it suddenly came to her that she needed to find a way to separate herself from this, from this thing she had to do. Ruth remembered back a long time ago, to another time she had pretended to be someone she was not, and by the time the lift doors opened, she had steel in her eyes, just as she'd seen Harry do. One last check, and she was ready.
Ruth walked down the outside corridor, and directly through the open door. She found the blonde woman in the hall and put the plastic bag over her head, pulling tightly, but not tightly enough to completely cut off her air. The woman was screaming, now, and Ruth had to scream too, to be heard. She knew the woman needed to see her face, clearly, in order to be able to identify her, so Ruth turned her around until their faces were right next to each other.
"Shut up! Shut up! Look at me!" Ruth held the gun directly in front of the woman's face, her finger on the trigger. "No talking to anyone again, I will kill you. You understand?" The woman was struggling now, terrified. "Listen, you have no idea what you've got yourself into." Ruth pushed the woman away from her and ran out, leaving the bag round her head.
She met Zaf on the landing. He was on with Jo, who was listening in on police calls. "Yeah, there she goes, called round to the police." Zaf turned and looked at Ruth, whose steel was now giving way to tears. "You were brilliant."
"Lady Macbeth. Sixth Form play."
They got to Zaf's car and Ruth broke down. He let her cry while he drove, feeling helpless. Finally, out of danger, he pulled over and she leant her head on his shoulder until she stopped crying. Zaf simply patted her and told her it would all be all right. Neither of them really believed it, but it felt good to hear nonetheless.
Zaf's mobile buzzed once. Ruth sat back up, wiping her eyes, now that the tears had stopped. Zaf opened his phone and read the message: SUNSTRIKE NOW.
Zaf held his phone open for Ruth to read. He raised his eyebrows in a question. She smiled sadly and nodded. "I'll tell you how to get there," she said, and began to give him directions.
Ruth had hoped he would come. She knew he wouldn't, but she didn't seem able to stop herself from hoping. She knew he was in jail, and that things couldn't change that quickly, but somehow every car that drove by was his, every creak of the old building was him stepping through the door. She ached for him, but continued to tell herself she had better get used to that feeling.
The light was finally coming in the grimy windows, just a haze of pale orange as the sun rose. Ruth pulled the covers around her to fight off the chill, and walked over to peer through the glass. There was one corner that she had cleaned, and she angled herself to look through it so that she couldn't be seen, should someone be looking.
She could just see the Thames, black in the shadow of the buildings where it was still night. Ruth closed her eyes and she was back on the bench after their first lunch in Henley-on-Thames, asking Harry if she had shocked him. So long ago, as they had watched the two swans glide by. Would she have done anything different, if she had known? She didn't think she would. The days seemed to have lined up since then as if they were planned, destined somehow, and she and Harry were simply walking across them in the only way they could.
She knew Harry had spent a lonely night too, in a jail cell. If only they had discovered how to meet in their dreams, as Harry had asked her that night at Havensworth. They could have travelled to Bath, after flying over the city and all its sadness, and met there on the grass, under the tree, and talked.
Ruth thought that idea would make her cry, but her tears seemed simply to have vanished. She felt detached somehow, as if she stood off to the side and watched herself. The high drama of last night, her performance as Lady Macbeth, was truly surreal, and she couldn't even remember how the gun felt in her hand. But she could still remember so clearly how Harry's lips felt on hers yesterday morning, as if it was the only real thing she had ever done.
Ruth padded back to the bed and laid down. Not bad accommodations, but lacking in the amenities, she thought. It was basically a warehouse with a bed in it, sink and loo, not terribly clean, but not horrible. It had some tea and dry cakes, a hot plate and old-fashioned teakettle, sugar, the staples. The linens were clean, if a bit musty after being packed in plastic for so long. And there was a comfort in knowing it was Harry's place, as if everything she touched here had a sliver of him in it. That was something to Ruth. She found she was so hungry for him.
Zaf had left early in the morning after he'd settled her in, as he needed to communicate with Adam and didn't want to inadvertently lead anyone here. So Ruth had spent the night alone, in an almost abandoned building, her life a shambles, and the man she loved in jail. Needless to say, her sleep had been fitful.
Before her house was overrun with plods, Zaf was going to try to get her some things. She knew Phoebe and Fidget would lay as low as they needed to, and he would put out a large bowl of food for them so they wouldn't starve.
First thing after that, Zaf had said he would get the new evidence into the hands of one of his contacts, and Harry would be released.
It was as if a large wheel were turning, like the Eye far in the distance, and it was determining her future. Harry was on the wheel, and Maudsley, Mace, Adam, Zaf, Ros, everyone but herself. She had done all she could now, and from here she would simply be swept along. She would go where they told her, be who they told her to be. As long as Harry was safe, she nearly didn't care anymore.
Zaf had left her saying what he should. "We're going to figure this out Ruth. We're going to clear you and clear Harry. It just might take time." Sweet Zaf. He knew as well as she did that there really was no way to do that. They had set it up that way. But Ruth knew that telling the truth in situations such as this one was highly overrated. She would have enough of the truth when they handed her a new passport.
Zaf had taken her mobile. That was smart, Ruth thought. Because right now she would be listening to Harry's message again. And again. And the thought occurred to her that his message would be erased, along with everything else. She would have to make do with the recording in her head. And, for as long as it took, she would have to make do with the memories of the last few weeks.
And for the first time, Ruth really understood how precious memories must be to a field agent under deep cover. No one can take them from you. Ruth closed her eyes and saw Harry right there in front of her. No one else could see that. No matter where she would go, or who she was to be, he would always be there with her.
"Please tell me you've got all this worked out." Harry walked beside Adam down the jail corridor. He had just been given his personal items, and they were on their way out to the car.
"Let me buy you a cup of coffee, Harry," Adam said. "It's worked out, but I'm not sure you're going to like it."
They sat on a bench high on Primrose Hill in Regent's Park, where Adam had met a contact once. It was the safest place he could think of. The morning sun was just beginning its path up the sky, and the steam from their coffee made lazy circles above the cups as they sipped. Harry had slept intermittently in his cell, due to exhaustion, but he didn't feel particularly rested. He had agreed to wait until they reached their destination to hear what Adam had to say, but he was getting very impatient.
Adam had taken as many twists and turns as he needed to assure that no one had followed them. They brought no mobiles, nothing that could be tracked. And Adam had given in on something that normally would be out of the question, because he felt it was deserved. He stood and turned around, nodding his head to the trees behind them. Zaf stepped out with Ruth.
Harry had looked up when Adam stood, and now he stood and followed his eyes. She was walking toward him, her head tilted, her eyes full of the tears that now would come. Without a care for who saw them, Harry and Ruth walked into each other's arms, and stood together, the light breeze ruffling their hair, their hearts finally calming after the long, aching night apart.
Harry pulled away and moved his hands up to the sides of her face. He bent to kiss her, tenderly, and Zaf and Adam turned away. Not because they were embarrassed, or felt any inappropriateness, but because it was the most intimate moment either of them could remember seeing. The fact that it involved two people they both knew well and cared about made it very personal. They walked back to the bench, out of earshot, and waited.
Ruth felt stronger already, with his lips on hers. Their warmth, as if life itself were held there, contrasting with the cool air around them. Harry moved his arms around her, and Ruth felt even if her legs were to go out from under her, which they seemed now threatening to do, she wouldn't fall. He would hold her upright against him.
She put her arms around his neck and pulled even closer, and now, inexplicably, she started to smile against his lips. And then almost laughing as she whispered, "God, Harry, this feels so good. I didn't think I'd feel this good ever again."
He pulled away and looked at her, his eyes full, and shook his head in mock exasperation. "What have you done?" The Special Branch officer at the jail had told him Ruth was Fox, and that they were searching for her now. "Why, Ruth?"
She shrugged slightly and touched his cheek. "I did the only thing I could do, Harry. I didn't have a choice. You needed to keep fighting. Otherwise, what was it all about?"
Harry exhaled and explored her eyes. "And now what? Exile?" Harry could hardly say the word. "I was willing to do what I needed to keep you safe."
She leant up and kissed him. "This way we'll both be safe. Just in different places. And not forever. Just until all this dies down." She was feeling so much stronger now, here with him. She had meant just to assure him that she was doing fine, but now it was actually beginning to sound to Ruth as if she could do all the things she was saying.
"We were never going to be free, Harry. Not with Mace knowing about us. I couldn't bear it, the thought of you having us held over you." Ruth reached her hand up and smoothed his hair in the wind, "This will be better in the long run, really."
She was trying very hard to be brave, and he could see that, so he decided to be brave with her. Harry asked simply, "How long do we have?"
Ruth looked down at his collar. "Tomorrow morning. But I don't want you to see me off, because it will be too hard for both of us. Today all of my papers are being put together, and then," She looked up at him, her eyes shining, and full of love, "Tonight you and I will have together at the safe house, if you want to."
Harry looked at her, smiling sadly. "If I want to." He kissed her, and she felt his lips trembling slightly, before he pulled away and said in a wounded voice next to her ear, "If I want to. Yes, Ruth, I want to."
Ruth felt herself slipping into tears again, so she breathed deeply against his chest. "And tomorrow morning, you will identify my body." He pulled away sharply, as she knew he would, and it allowed her to collect herself. "Malcolm is calling in a favour at the mortuary." To his wide eyes, she said, "Ruth Elizabeth Evershed needs to die, Harry, or they'll never leave me alone."
Harry held her eyes with his, and realised finally, absolutely, that this was happening. He had found her, he loved her, and he was losing her. He shook his head, "How is this possible, Ruth? We just found each other."
Now she held his face firmly between her hands. "And we will find each other again, Harry." Ruth took his right hand and tenderly removed the leather glove. When it was bare, she laid it on her necklace, on the charms. "We are always together here, Harry. Always. No matter where we happen to be. And, in time, I will come back."
Ruth leant up and kissed him. "I love you, Harry Pearce, and always, always will." She smiled at him sadly. "And you love me, whatever my name ends up being. It doesn't matter. Don't you see? Nothing can touch that."
Harry kissed her now, with his whole being. And although he was trying to send her all the love he felt, it seemed his heart kept filling up again with more. They stood that way for a long time, lost in that kiss, until they managed to pull away from each other and walk, arm in arm, up the hill to the bench, and to Adam and Zaf.
~~~~~
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Harry was on his third hour of travel, and frankly, he was exhausted. It was a stark reminder of the number of years he had been behind a desk, and how much his patience had ebbed over those years. And his need for sleep, which he calculated at about 7 hours over the last three days, was threatening to overtake him in the boredom of trying to lose any tails that might be out there.
But, oh, how I want to see her.
Adam and Zaf were monitoring, and he would be stopped before he went to the safe house if there was any danger to Ruth. So far, all the signals were at go. The paradox, of course, was that he would be the one person Mace would have followed. In any other circumstance, a less involved agent would be sent to this meeting, but that just wouldn't work, now would it? Harry smiled to himself. No, not for this meeting.
Every time Harry reached a checkpoint, he dreaded looking at it in fear that he would be turned back. He was moving toward the last one now, and his heart was pounding. If the sign in the shop said, "Open" he would go on. If it was turned to "Closed," he was supposed to stop and go back to the Grid. They would try again later, and he would have fewer hours with Ruth, if any at all.
Harry turned the corner and might have shouted if he'd had more energy. "Open." And Harry knew he would see her, he would be standing in front of her, in only ten minutes more. Then again, after the exertions of the last three hours, he might just fall into her arms and be of no use to her whatsoever. Harry smiled again. Fat bloody chance. He could be at death's door tonight and still want her.
He remembered her again on the hilltop, so beautiful, so brave. And the reports he'd gotten from Adam and Zaf. An excellent field agent, both had said. Zaf said she had threatened that woman with a gun, and done it brilliantly. Why had he been so surprised when he'd heard that? She'd done everything brilliantly since the day she arrived on the Grid. He was sorry he was losing her at Five, obviously for more and profoundly deeper reasons than he could possibly count, but the loss of a good agent was one of them.
Now Harry knew who she would be and where she would be. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best they could put together in the short time they had. Harry, Zaf and Adam had strategised it all, and no one else, save Malcolm, was allowed into the circle. Of course, Jo and Ros had asked about Ruth, and had watched with great interest through the windows to Harry's office . But Harry was absolute in his belief that this should stay on a need-to-know basis. He wasn't taking any chances.
Harry looked up to the half moon. How long would it be before she could come back to England? How many times would he see the moon wax and wane before he held her here again? He pushed the thought from his mind. They would get through this one day at a time.
And when he thought about the past, Harry realised that the years of his life had already gone by so quickly that he almost couldn't count them. These would only be days, weeks, months at the outside. But not years. He couldn't bear it if it were years. If it stretched to a year, he would go to her, the Service be damned.
Harry turned another corner and saw the tube station. As he found his seat on the train, he put his hand protectively over the inside pocket of his jacket. Ruth's papers. Harry thought, smiling, that he was already in love with another woman, and he held her here. He had spent the day with her, and knew she had Ruth's angelic face, her incisive mind, and her sweet smile.
And Harry thought again, as he had been thinking all day, how personal this was. He had spent his years in the Service deciding on legends for himself and others, and the primary focus had always been the operation. Today he had wondered, would she like it, would she be happy, are these good people she will be with? And all day long, Harry's heart had been breaking, slowly, relentlessly, as he imagined Ruth there, and him here.
Others would have the benefit of her company, and he would be denied it. Harry had to close his eyes against the pain that came each time he thought about it. He was asking her to immerse herself in being another person, and he knew all too well where that could lead. He knew Ruth loved him now, but in months? When the loneliness and anger and recrimination started, when the feeling of abandonment and bitterness took over?
At times today he had imagined creating his own legend to go with her. It had kept him sane. And he knew he was tired, drained and grasping, but he had also felt a desperate need to extract some promise, some pact together that they would start again, no matter what happened. That there could be no chance of losing each other over miles and time. And he knew in his logical mind that a promise like that didn't exist.
As he watched through the darkness of the train window, Harry knew how weakened he was by the events of the last few weeks, the emotional roller coaster of dizzying highs and abysmal lows, not to mention lack of sleep. But how I love her, he thought, aching, in a way he knew he'd never loved any other woman in his life.
What was that horrible, cloying phrase that had been so overused? If you love something, let it go? God help him, it made sense to Harry now. He was releasing her, and hoping that the love they had today would bring her back sometime in the future. And as he thought about that, another small fracture made its way across his heart.
The train stopped, and Harry got out. He walked up the steps, turned right, walked two more blocks, and finally, he was there. He stepped into the lift, pushed the number four, and he felt his heart beating soundly in his chest. One minute more.
She opened the door, and her face became radiant. Just from the sight of him. And Harry felt again like the luckiest man on Earth. "Rest for a road-weary traveller, Miss?"
She pulled him inside and looked both ways down the hallway. "Oh, much more than that," was all she said, as the door closed behind Harry.
Zaf had taken good care of them. There was Chinese to warm in the small microwave, and two good bottles of white burgundy. An overnight bag for Harry. Ruth's bag, the one she had taken to Bath, had arrived with fresh clothes and everything she would need for a journey. She still had no idea what her legend would be or where she was going, but she would find out from Harry tonight.
There were emergency candles in the cupboards, and Ruth had managed to set up a slight air of romance with them on small plates, scattered throughout the room. The bed was flanked by tall metal shelves, and she had simply thrown extra linens over them to make walls of a sort. Although she and Harry would be alone, it gave the sense of a bedroom and privacy in the soft light from the candles.
Harry looked so tired, and no wonder. He'd probably been walking for hours, getting here. Ruth felt a sudden tightness in her heart, looking at him in the dim light of the room. He had gotten as little sleep as she had in the last few days, probably less. And now it was nearly ten, and they were just starting the last night they would have together for some time.
Some time. How long? If Ruth could have willed herself into an altered state, a temporary sleep, until that time was up, she would gladly have done it. To simply close her eyes with Harry next to her, and wake up in the same place. She felt she would give up those weeks or months, or even years if need be. The idea of separating from Harry now made her feel as if this were the night before some horrific medical procedure, where limbs would be taken, and she must value them for one final time before giving them up completely.
But he was here now. Her Harry. And the gratitude she felt at touching him, seeing his face, was as if she'd already been away. She put her arms around his neck and pulled her body tightly to his. Harry sighed, and gave a soft hum of contentment against her. He stayed there, just breathing, and finally said, "You calm me, Ruth. It's like I step out of the world and into another, a more peaceful one, when you hold me like this."
He pulled away and looked at her with desperately sad eyes. "I don't know what I'll do without you, Ruth. I don't even know where to begin."
Ruth's hand went to his face, and she kissed him, holding there. Then she moved her lips to his cheek and whispered, "I described it to myself yesterday as feeling like home, being in your arms." She pulled away and gazed into his eyes. "And we have this, Harry. The present. Now." She brushed his lips with hers, and then continued, "I want to store up memories, so that wherever I am, I can pull them out and look at them, like diamonds. I'm trying very hard not to be sad."
"Then you're braver than I am." Harry ran a thumb across her cheek. "I have to warn you, I'm going on very little sleep, and I'm feeling a dangerous combination of melancholy and anger about you leaving tomorrow. I've thought all day of just coming with you."
Ruth lowered her eyes, and he could see how close she was to tears. "I've thought all day of asking you to." She looked up to meet his eyes, and he saw a slight glint of iron there, along with the tears. "But I won't, Harry. Neither one of us could live with that." Now a tear did slip down her cheek, and he wiped it away.
Harry pulled her close to him. "Christ, how can I lose you just as I found you? I don't know how long this will be, Ruth. I'll get you back here as soon as I possibly can, but only if you're no longer in danger." His arms tightened around her. "I don't know when that will be."
"I know that, Harry, and I started feeling very sorry for myself today. I sat here thinking about how bloody unfair this was, how tragic. And then I thought about all the people who are separated by war, and prison, and," she pulled away and looked at him, "and, death, Harry. What about Mik Maudsley's widow? How is she tonight? She'll never see him again. At least I'll know that you're here, and that I have the chance to hold you someday. And you'll know that I am ... where, Harry? Where am I going? How far away from you?" Ruth's eyes searched his.
"Close, Ruth. I made sure of that. In France. Paris."
Her relief was visible, as she exhaled through her lips. She had imagined North or South America, Australia, Africa, somewhere very far away. Ruth leant up and kissed him tenderly, and he felt the slight quiver of gratitude on her lips. She said quietly, trying to smile, "Oh, Harry, thank you. You'll be just across the water. I'll nearly be able to see you from Paris."
Harry made a soft sound, he was so touched by her. He returned the kiss, and could only think, Her first thought was of me. Now his exhaustion seemed to leave him, as his hands moved from her hair to her face, and then down to her neck. He was memorising her with his fingers, the softness of her skin, the sharp contrast of her collarbone to the indentation at the base of her neck. The kiss deepened, and he wanted all of her, to touch her everywhere so that he could remember every part of her body under his hands.
Ruth sighed, and her voice caught in a soft cry. Harry could feel tears, warm between their cheeks as he kissed her. Then he could taste them, salty and hot on his lips. He pulled away, wanting to know if she was all right, but she shook her head and held him closer, murmuring, "No, I want you. Very much."
Harry removed the coat that he was still wearing, and took her hand to lead her to the bed. He saw what she had done with the room, and smiled at her, gently. "Ah, Ruth. What a treasure you are. I'll never see it any other way." The candles painted everything a pale gold, and the folds of the linens on either side of the bed made it look like a lovely Renaissance scene of sorts. Harry could hardly believe it was the same barren warehouse room.
As he brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, Harry thought no room was the same with Ruth in it. They were at the bed now, standing in the dim light, and as they undressed each other, both were reminded of their first night together. And Ruth suddenly felt a need for him to know her as she would be, the person she must now become. So Harry wouldn't only be a part of her past, but also of her future.
She asked him, "What will my name be, Harry? I want you to know me that way." Her intensity increased, as she realised how important this was to her. "I want that person to know you, to have a memory of you. It will make it seem less of a separation. Please."
Harry held her eyes in his gaze for a moment, and he knew it would help him too. A bridge from who they were now. "Sophie," he said. He nuzzled his lips into her hair, and then whispered in her ear, "Sophie Persan." He paused for a moment, letting it hang in the air between them. Then he smiled and looked at her. "I rather like that." He kissed her and then repeated it, but this time, against her neck, and he fairly growled it, "Sophie."
Ruth loved it when Harry spoke like that. Soft, low. It tended to send lovely chills down her neck. She squirmed deliciously in his arms, and spoke softly back to him, "Sophie." She pulled away and found his eyes. "Persan. Percer, in French, to pierce, or percant, piercing." The tears had stopped, and now her eyes, still moist, looked iridescent in the candlelight. "You gave me your name, Harry."
Harry simply looked at her, his face open, vulnerable. "Yes, so you won't forget me."
Ruth kept her eyes on him. "Not as long as I live." She finished unbuttoning his shirt, loosened it and slipped it off, letting it fall to the floor. Harry pulled back and began unbuttoning her blouse. He let the blouse fall off of her shoulders , then he moved his lips down, first to the necklace, as he always did, but then lower, to the soft valley between her breasts. "I love you, Ruth."
"Sophie," she corrected him, lightly.
His voice was muffled on her skin, but she could hear a smile in it. "I love both of you."
Malcolm got the call very late. A perfect match. Same age, same hair colour. Drowned in the Thames, no longer than five hours ago. He thanked his friend and closed his mobile. Malcolm sighed, feeling almost as if he had gotten the call that Ruth had died. Might as well have.
He got up to fix himself a cup of tea. Couldn't sleep now anyway, what with that vision in his head. He'd been so happy for them, and now what? Exile. And the idea of months, maybe years, stretching out in front of them. Of pacing, and short temper, and mooning looks coming from behind that glass. Poor Harry, Malcolm thought. He finally finds love, and away it flies.
And not just that. Malcolm would miss Ruth, too. Very much. He'd come to depend on her sunny way of finding her way through challenges.
Malcolm shook his head, waiting for the kettle to boil. So bloody little time. He wished better for his two friends. But he consoled himself and smiled just a bit at the thought that the two little boxes were together tonight. He'd gotten that idea firmly stuck in his head at Havensworth, and it refused to leave him. The red one and the green one, blinking away happily.
He sipped his tea and sighed. Ah, well, it was only for a time, after all. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that those two wouldn't be kept apart for long.
There was only the flickering light from the candles in the room, and Harry couldn't see her breasts clearly, but he could feel them, warm and smooth under his lips. Ruth held him there, and mixed in with the sorrow of leaving and the joy of being with him now, she thought, Paris. Only two hours away. She had begun to hope again. Somehow the idea of being that close was especially comforting to her, as if their tether, the one that kept them close, wouldn't have to be stretched too thin.
Ruth gently moved him up to her mouth, and pressed her lips to his, holding him tightly against her. Harry's lips parted, hungrily now, as he felt his need for her intensify. Ruth's body responded, and her need rose too, her hands roaming his body luxuriously, feeling his smooth chest against her and the warm skin of his shoulders, strong and firm under her fingers.
They pulled themselves into the warmth of the covers. And with the intensity of the bond they felt, they explored each other, alternately tender and passionate, savouring and in need. It was different from Bath, more profound in a way, because they both knew that what they were feeling would have to last them for some indeterminate period of time, into an unknown future.
In the final moment, as the waves overtook Ruth, an emotion welled up in her that she had never felt, at once agonizingly pleasurable and deeply painful, and it wrenched her, astonished, into tears. The tears turned to sobs, and Harry held her, frightened at first that he wouldn't be able to pull her back, yet feeling blessed, privileged to be holding her, so open, so trusting that she would let him see this.
When Ruth did come back, she told him it was love she was feeling, in such quantity and intensity that she had lost herself in it completely. And into that feeling had come the thought that she might never do this again with him, and the tears had come. She told Harry it was all right. "I'm alive, Harry. Completely alive. With you." It was all she could say to explain.
Then she turned to him, and took him to the same place. Harry responded not with tears, but with a connection to Ruth that felt so organic, so permanent, that he felt she could be anywhere in the world, and for the rest of his life he could conjure the length of her body along the contours of his, her heart, her voice, her touch, now a part of him.
And after, they lay whispering to each other, the desire descending, but not the love. Never the love.
Harry had promised himself that no matter how exhausted he was, he wouldn't sleep this night. There would be so many long, lonely nights ahead when he would welcome the oblivion of sleep. But the warmth of Ruth's arms and the release of making love took him, unaware, into it.
Ruth heard him breathing softly, evenly, and she moved slowly away without disturbing him, just as he had two nights ago. And in just the same way, she watched him sleeping, his face at rest, a whisper of a smile on his lips.
Ruth got up and retrieved his white shirt from the floor. She put it on, and wondered if she could keep it to take with her. Holding the collar around her face, she drew in the scent of it. Harry didn't wear cologne, which pleased her, because she loved the subtleness of his soap and shaving cream. And that was what surrounded her now. Ruth wondered how long this exquisite scent would last, if she took the shirt to Paris. Could she wrap it in plastic and only take it out once in a while?
Ruth shook her head at her own thoughts. Insanity. That was what awaited her. She looked over at Harry, and she could no longer do without him. She would have enough nights alone to do this. Tonight she wanted him. He'd had nearly a half hour of sleep, and that was all she could give him.
She moved quietly over to the bed and laid herself next to him, feeling his breath on her cheek. Tenderly, so as not to startle him, she put her lips on his. Harry stirred, and she felt his lips respond to hers as he made a soft, contented sound. His arms went round her, and they lay like that, in a gentle, dream-like kiss, just outside the edge of the polar opposites of sleep and passion.
"I need you, Harry," she whispered to him.
He smiled against her lips, his voice sleepy, "I think we'd best wait for a while, Ruth."
Ruth smiled back at him, and said softly, "Not that kind of need, Harry. I want to talk. I don't want to lose this time. Can you stay awake? Or should I not be selfish? Should I let you sleep?"
Now he opened his eyes and looked at her. "Was I sleeping?" He moved up on his elbow, rubbing his eyes. "No, I wasn't going to sleep." Forcing himself up, he sat, fully, and leaned against the wall behind the bed. He exhaled deeply. "I hardly know what day it is."
Ruth sat up and moved herself under his arm, her fingers trailing across his skin. "I know." She paused for a moment, feeling his chest rise and fall. "How calm things will be when this is all over. Maybe as soon as tomorrow night." She felt tears beginning to well up, but pushed them back. Plenty of time to cry as well.
Harry felt the shift in her, and held her more closely to him. The moon was high in the sky now, and it shone across the bed, its blue light blending with the reddish-yellow of the candles. Warm and cold colours, both present on their bodies and in their minds. Happiness and loss. Love and need. Tonight and tomorrow.
~~~~~
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