CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
It rang.
Eleven days of carrying the precious thing, and it finally rang. And the ringtone? Lillibulero. Ruth was laughing as she picked up. "Harry?" In her voice was all the anticipation, joy and profound love that could be contained in forty-six days of waiting, and the voice on the other end did not disappoint.
"Ruth." Oh, God, it was him. His voice was deep and soft, saying her name, her real name, the name that told her who she was.
After sitting for a hour watching the clock until he could call, just hearing her voice rushed over Harry like a wave, and coupled with the emotion of the week, he couldn't wait another minute. His words spilled out, tumbling over each other on his exhaled breath, "I love you Ruth. I love you." Now he laughed, "Christ, I've been wanting to say that to you since the moment you stepped off the dock. No, since before then. I love you." She heard him pull away from the phone, a catch in his voice.
Now she started to cry. "I love you too, Harry. More even than I did then, so much. I love you, too." Ruth held her free arm around her middle, trying to contain all the feelings that were exploding in her at the sound of his voice. So well remembered, but becoming hollow with the days passing by, and now here it was, full and round and complete, bringing memories of long, warm nights with him.
They fell silent in their emotion, neither able to speak, so they breathed together, waiting to recover, feeling strangely awkward in this new place. Ruth spoke first. "Where are you?"
"On the Grid, in my office." His voice was hoarse, still choked, but he cleared his throat and got hold of himself. "Malcolm said I should start the call here, something about re-routing, or masking, some voodoo, smoke and mirrors ..." His voice trailed off in confusion, and Ruth laughed, finally, sniffling back the tears.
"Oh, Harry." She didn't need to say anything more. He knew the rest, and the affection with which she said it tightened his heart. They had a sort of shorthand now, something he had with no other person, and he sighed into the comfort of just knowing that her head rested next to a mobile that was connected to his, which rested against his ear.
He laughed too, easily. "I know. I need to understand what it is my people do. I'm afraid I may be a lost cause."
"Never. But whatever it is Malcolm needs you to do in order for us to talk to each other, please do it."
"He's given me two phones for some bloody reason, and I'll be switching sometime to the other one ..." Harry stopped her before she could say anything, "... and no, I have no explanation of why, Ruth ..." He was laughing again, his joy at finally talking to her evident in his voice, " ... heknows, God help him, but I haven't a clue ..." His voice trailed off, and Ruth could feel his happiness.
She sighed. "God, Harry, how good you sound."
"And you, Ruth." He paused. "You're at the hotel?"
"Yes. It's lovely."
"I want to see," he said. "I want to imagine you in that room. Does it have a website?"
"Yes, it's how I booked it. The Hotel Britannique. There's a dash between. Dot com. There's a really good photo under 'Rooms.' Looks just like it. Second one, I think, bedroom divided from the lounge by a curtain, red footstool, gold carpets?"
"I see it." Harry's voice went deeper. "And you're sleeping in that bed tonight?"
"Yes, Harry." Her voice softened. "With you. I'm not letting you off this phone until I'm fast asleep. I won't be able to bear it. So if I should begin to bore you, you'll have to sing me to sleep or read 'War and Peace' or something. I want to fall into dreams hearing your voice." He could sense the tears starting again. "I've missed you so much."
Harry drew a deep breath, gathering his own emotion. He would never get through this call if they continued to do this. "Well, my love, we have a date tonight. So you'll hear as much of me as you could possibly wish."
Ruth was grateful for his playful tone, and, after a breath, she rose to match it. "A date? Where are we going?" She managed to remove her arm from around her stomach and could breathe again.
She heard him rustling, getting his coat on, from the sound of it. "First off, we drive a bit, maybe get out and walk, gaze at the water, just like all the other Saturday night lovers. I will be forgiven if I steal a kiss or two, because it's a very romantic thing to do."
She laughed. "I might let you, but don't get cheeky, you. I'm not easy, you know."
"I'll take my chances." She heard the whoosh of the pods and her breath caught, remembering the last time she had stepped through them. Mace on one side, Harry on the other, and her life in shambles. She pulled herself back to the present, erasing that picture and replacing it with Harry stepping through.
"And after you've had your way with me there by the River?"
His voice was soft, and the seductive tone was unmistakeable. "Then we travel to Bath, my Ruth."
She wasn't prepared for this, and she let out a small "oh." Her eyes welled up, and her voice got very small. "You're spending the night in Bath, Harry?"
Very quietly, almost in a whisper, he answered, "Yes. In our room. You're not the only one who knows how to book a room, Miss Evershed."
She was overcome. "Oh, Harry." Her wonderful, romantic man. "I'll know just where you are, too. Almost as if we're together." She shook her head, "But it's such a long drive, and you'll be there alone."
"I've hired a driver so I can concentrate completely on your voice for the way up. And not alone, Ruth. With you. I can't possibly see that room without you in it. And whilst you take your bath tonight, I might just try my luck at that damned tub. We'll imagine we're in there together again." He laughed softly. "Preferably without the flood."
Ruth smiled at the memory, a light blush coming into her cheeks. "It was a good flood, Harry. Utterly worth it from my side of the bargain."
Harry's voice went lower. "Well, maybe we can arrange another then."
She laughed softly. "Harry." Her voice rose a bit, suggestively. "What kind of call is this, exactly?"
His voice was teasing, mischievous. "Whatever you want it to be, my Ruth." She heard voices, muffled in the background, over the phone. "And now, for my kiss."
Ruth leant back on the pillows. "You're there at the water? Oh, Harry. How does it look? Tell me."
"It's a clear night, and I'm watching other couples, just like us, strolling by. But no woman is as beautiful as you are, and no man as lucky as I am. No stars that I can see, but the lights of the city are quite stunning, actually." His voice softened and he whispered to her, "Ruth, there's only one thing missing, and you know what it is."
Ruth did know, and she wanted so terribly to be there with Harry in London. She could see him, a soft breeze blowing in his hair, his coat pulled up round him. She closed her eyes and willed herself there. "I'm next to you, Harry. My hand is warm on your cheek, and I'm leaning up, right now, to kiss you." For a moment they were both silent. Then she heard him chuckle softly. "Not half bad, Ruth. I find I'm quite able to conjure you here." She heard him sigh deeply, the moment broken. "But Christ, I want to hold you right now. Nothing here but empty air." Then she heard his breathing as he started walking again.
"I know. It aches sometimes, doesn't it? Like hunger." Ruth's voice trailed off, and she decided to get up herself, and move around a bit. "But your letters help, Harry. You have a gift with words, you know." She paced about the room aimlessly, picking up a pillow from the bed and moving it to the couch.
"Not my gift. It's that bloke Arden. He dictates, I type." Harry smiled into the darkness. "Your letters as well, Ruth. I keep them, although Malcolm says not to, and has forced me to lie to him about it. I read them over when it gets hardest to be without you. I was thinking they might make good reading for separated lovers. Call it 'Missing Someone.' And then I wondered if all separated lovers are as masochistic as I seem to be at times."
"I think I must be, too. All I know is it's better to be wallowing in missing you than not doing anything with you. So I miserably wallow. I was just thinking the other night, here I am in the City of Lights, and what have I seen?"
"You almost saw the Louvre." She could hear the smile in his voice.
Ruth laughed. "God, Harry, if you could have seen my face when I turned and Christine was there like a ghost from my past. Cripes! You might have warned me!"
"I tried to think how, really. All I could imagine was some veiled reference to Tom, and the CIA, and suddenly I was playing Charades, first word, second syllable, sounds like, and you'd be sitting in Paris scratching your head, wondering if Margaret Thatcher was coming round for a visit."
They both laughed now, at the ridiculousness of their situation, at the hours they'd spent trying to communicate any semblance of truth to each other. And they both felt the same thing, it was such a relief to just talk.
Ruth heard a noise. "You're back in the car?"
"Yes, my love. Next stop on our date? The Windsor Guest House. You'll meet me there? Hold on, I'm putting on the earpiece." Harry went away for a time, and then Ruth heard a soft click. His voice was low, relaxed now. "A little over two hours. I will step into the hotel and ask for a reservation under the name of William Arden. I'll go up to our very room and walk through the door. And across the room, I'll see you, bathed in the glow of that light ..." He paused, and she knew he was waiting for her to continue.
Ruth sat back on the small loveseat and closed her eyes. "You'll see me, looking very timid and nervous at first. But you'll walk across the room to me, and take me in your arms, and kiss me." Ruth paused, lost in remembering, "Oh, that kiss, Harry. Made me feel not so very timid anymore." Softly, she said, "I want to be there again. I want to do everything again with you. Promise me we'll go back there. Together."
Ruth heard softness, but also the familiar steel in his voice. "I promise. We will do everything. That and more, my Ruth. I have help now."
Ruth smiled. "I'm glad you found Tom and Christine. It was a good choice. I liked her more than I thought I would, but I must admit at first I was surprised you trusted her."
"Yes, surprised myself on both counts," Harry said. "Liking her and trusting her. But now I find I especially enjoy her straight way of talking. Wasn't so charmed by it when we were on opposite sides of the table, but now that we have the same goals, it's quite to my liking." Harry laughed. "And an added benefit is that I'm learning a bit more about the CIA. She's really come over to Britain. She hasn't told me anything she shouldn't, certainly, but she marvels about the workings of Intelligence there in the same way we do here. I just sit and listen and learn."
"So you've seen them often?"
"They come to London fairly regularly, and I've gone up to visit twice, yes." He knew what her next question would be. "They have a good life, Ruth. It's what we always wondered, isn't it? Life after the Services? They're an example of a success story, I think." He paused for a moment. "And you know, something I hadn't thought about until just this minute? I haven't had friends in a long while. Of course there's Malcolm, and drinks at the George after a lengthy day with others from the Grid, but I've never really felt I could have proper friends because of the work."
Harry continued. "But we have dinner, and we laugh. I can talk about you, which is a huge relief, and they never ask about the specifics of my day as others might. There's a brotherhood ..." He paused, and laughed softly, "Sorry, a circle ... you see, I can be taught, my love." He heard Ruth's soft laugh and could almost see her smiling. Harry's heart ached, but he went on, "A circle, of just a few who can be friends under these circumstances, and I'm grateful I've found them."
"I'm so glad, Harry." She sounded envious, and she knew it. Ruth pushed it away because she also felt true happiness in his contentment.
Of course, he read her mind. "I'm sorry you don't have that right now, my Ruth, but does it help to know that the fourth chair at the table is always filled by you? We all know it, and that's another reason I enjoy them. They both care for you as well, and don't comment on my madness, although Christine did say the other day that you and I reminded her of teenagers asking her to pass notes for them."
Ruth laughed. "God, I know, Harry. It's just what I feel. All that time on the Grid when I could see you every day, and I took it for granted. Now I scan down the emails for that glorious subject line ..."
He interrupted her, softly, saying it as an endearment, "RE: Your Much-Appreciated Correspondence..."
Sighing loudly, Ruth said, "Oh, yes, the best bloody words in the world to read on a cool Paris morning." She smiled. "Because it means I get closer to you, Harry. I sit in that hard wooden chair, surrounded by books, and it puts me right back into your arms. I can close my eyes and remember."
Her voice went almost to a whisper. "I find I remember Havensworth. The extremes of those days and nights. I thought my heart was broken irretrievably, that I would spend my life wanting you and never have you. I could have written the saddest novel that night, and then there you were." She laughed softly and lowered her voice to match his stern tone from that night, "Ruth. A word."
Harry laughed too, "I had no idea what I would say to you, but I knew I wouldn't sleep that night if I didn't say something."
He heard the smile in Ruth's voice. "You said the best thing. You said 'I love you.'"
Harry spoke slowly, deliberately, "I do love you. I'll always love you." Ruth tilted her head, listening, and leaned over on a pillow, as if it were him. "I want you to know that, Ruth. Really know it." His voice took on a slight urgency. "I want you to hear this and remember it, to keep it close to your heart until the day you die, my Ruth. I love you, from my depths."
He continued, his voice low in her ear. "Since you've been gone, I've tried to wrap my mind around what's so frustrating about it, and it comes down to not being able to tell you those simple words often enough. I've said to myself that as soon as I have the chance, I'll etch them into you, write them indelibly on your soul, so there will never be a time that you doubt it, no matter where we find ourselves."
She heard the distant hum of the motorway as he paused. "I haven't said those words enough in my life, Ruth. I love you. They always seemed more tied up with strings and obligations than I could fathom, a mystery of sorts, and I wondered at how easily some could say them over and over. And now they follow naturally after your name. Ruth, I love you. My fingers go to type them to Sophie at the end of every letter, logically. I write the words I love you through my letters to you and it always bothers me when I have to delete them."
"And no matter how this all plays out, no matter where we are, I want you to know that will always be true. If we sit in a meeting room, or we find each other at some gathering, or we're in a situation where it's impossible for me to tell you, I want you to hear the words in your head, as you're hearing them now. Ruth, I love you. I love you. I love you." His voice broke slightly, and he went silent.
She could see his face now as she closed her eyes. The openness of the Havensworth corridor, his tears in the soft golden light of Bath. As Ruth lay back on the red loveseat in the Hotel Britannique in Paris, she felt the words actually burn into her heart, complete with the accompanying pain. Her voice was ragged, soft, as she answered him. "I feel it, Harry. I'll remember. I promise."
A tear slipped down her cheek, first one side, then the other, and fell, spreading into the red of the cushions, turning the spots to the colour of blood. Her voice was low, gentle, slow, like the soft chant of meditation. "Close your eyes, Harry. I know you're not in Bath yet, but put yourself there, can you? In that warm, soft bed, in my arms? Remember how that felt, how it was to open yourself completely to me, to give parts of you that had been hidden for too long. Remember how the tears had come, for both of us. Can you?"
"Yes." She could only hear him breathing now, and with her eyes firmly closed, Ruth was back in the clean, white sheets with him, his voice in her ear. She spoke just above a whisper, "Oh, Harry, I'm there. Are you?" She said it with a wonder at what she was feeling, running her fingers across the smooth skin of his arms, the blonde hairs golden and glowing in the light, the feel of his lips, full and warm on her shoulder, her neck.
Not knowing it, Ruth reached her hand up to hold the necklace, finding the charms, and sighed. "Harry, I love you. It's unlike anything I've ever felt. It fills me, and makes me understand everything I've read about love, everything I've thought I should feel. I know how Beethoven felt, Michelangelo," Her voice was rising, and she smiled, and then laughed at her inability to express herself. "Symphonies, masterpieces, God, the hyperbole, but it's true."
Now she heard Harry laugh too, and the moment morphed into something else, something they needed if they were to continue this conversation. "Thanks, Ruth, for reviving me," he said, shifting his position and taking a deep breath. "I thought I might melt right into this seat, and never be heard from again." He smiled now, and spoke softly, "That was a beautiful holiday, my love."
Ruth stood up slowly, stretching, and began to walk around the room again. "Ahhhhh, this is lovely, Harry. If I can't have you here, I'll take this. Can we do this every night? Please put Malcolm on it, would you?"
"I don't know when we'll be able to do this again, but I suggest you keep the mobile, just in case it should happen to ring." His voice took on a lighter tone, "And If you think Malcolm's not already on it, you've vastly underestimated me." Harry sighed. "And my love, this is where I'm supposed to switch off and call you back on another line, to connect to another ... oh, Christ, I don't know, but it will take a bit of time to accomplish. I need to call him, he needs to call me back, then he does something, then I call you. Will you wait?"
Ruth laughed incredulously, "Will I wait?" Her voice softened, went low, "Dear Harry, I've waited for a month and a half to hear your voice. Yes, I'll wait. I'll unpack my carryall, get the lavender out ... " She let her voice trail off suggestively.
Harry sighed deeply. "Oh, my wicked Ruth and her baths. Good, you prepare, and then we'll have the rest of the night together." He sounded as if he was about to ring off, but Ruth said, quickly, "Oh, and Harry?"
"Yes?"
"I love you."
Harry smiled. "I love you, too. Call you back."
Ruth pressed the button and leant back on the loveseat. Her heart was ready to burst with love for him. As she looked at the beautiful plush bed in front of her, the one she would sleep in alone tonight, she tried to find a way to be complete with what she had of him, his voice, his love, his mind. So much, really, but she still wanted more. To be able to touch him, too. To feel him.
She stood up, shaking it off, telling herself, This is enough. This is more than enough. As she moved to unpack, Ruth thought how sweet and romantic it was that he was going to Bath. And that he was staying in the same room? That was a lovely surprise to her. Suddenly a picture came to her mind, of Harry in bubbles in the claw foot tub at the Windsor Guest House, and her in bubbles here in Paris, talking through the night on the phone, and she smiled.
He knew that would make her smile, and she thanked him, silently. This call could have turned to sadness, a sense of being further apart than ever, of missing each other more, but the thoughtfulness he was showing, even hiring a driver so he could talk to her? This was the romantic man she discovered on their first day together in Henley-on-Thames. He was still planning their Grand Tour.
After she'd put away her few things, Ruth cradled the phone in her hands as if she were holding him. She didn't have to wait long. The mobile rang, and she smiled, knowing his voice would be on the other end.
She did her best to sound offhand, officious, and with a French accent. "Sophie Persan."
Harry laughed, and after a slight pause, said, "Will Arden to speak to Ms. Persan?"
Ruth's voice went back to her own, soft, low, "Mr. Arden. I've missed you. Have we eluded the bad guys?"
Harry smiled, shaking his head slightly, "Don't ask me how Malcolm does it, because I'm sure it beggars belief, algorithms or some such. But, yes, I think they've lost the trail."
Ruth laughed. "Malcolm has his own language, doesn't he? I know I've heard you say to him more than once, 'Malcolm, in English!'"
"Well, he's managed to assure me my office is properly debugged, and that's a relief." More seriously, he said, "Actually, Ruth, I think Mace's people are starting to lose steam, a bit."
"Really? That's good news , Harry. Why do you say that?"
"Well, they were following me very closely for a while, but Oliver is out of favour now, and hasn't the budget he used to. I lead them about town for my own amusement sometimes, and I suppose it's possible they've seen me with Tom and Christine, but with three spooks making dinner arrangements, I'd say that's unlikely. Not to hurt your feelings, my love, but you are rapidly becoming old news."
Ruth laughed. "Music to my ears, Harry." She grew more serious. "What does that mean, though?" Her voice rose hopefully, "That I can come back?"
Harry sighed. "Not yet. At least in Paris you have freedom. You can come and go as you please. Here you would be forever looking around corners, and I'd worry for you to the point of distraction, I fear. You're a born spook, my Ruth, but you don't want that life."
"A born spook." Ruth's voice suddenly seemed very far away. "Christine said they didn't miss it, but I have to admit, Harry, I miss it already. Maybe because Tom and Christine are still doing security work it stays interesting, but after I got Isabelle organised, the work has tended to drag a bit. I can feel myself getting restless." Ruth sat down again, kicked her shoes off and put her feet up on the table, wiggling her toes luxuriously. "Isabelle sends her best to James, by the way. She looks back so fondly at you. You really did your good deed with those two."
"They're good people. Well, Isabelle told me Pierre had died, but you can see for yourself what kind of person she is. No matter what mess they got into, they were just following their passion."
"What did they get into? Can you tell me?"
"They were discovered with a group that kidnapped and murdered someone. Quite serious, actually, but they were only connected to them, not involved in any of the planning or execution. They would have gone to prison with the rest of the lot, but I pulled them out and hid them until it all blew over." Harry smiled, remembering. "Terrified as rabbits, both of them. So different from the rest. No coldness in their eyes, just the glow of the idealist."
"Yes, that's what Isabelle called herself as well. Idealiste."
"You never know, Ruth, when your good deeds will come back to you. If my doing that for her then has made your life easier now, then the good has truly come back to me. You like her, yes? She makes you feel safe?"
Ruth smiled. "Oh, yes. She's taken me under her wing, just as you asked her." Ruth stood again, unable in her restlessness to stay in one position for long. "You gave me a very soft landing, Harry. Thank you."
There was silence for just a moment, and Ruth could hear the hum of the car in the background. Then Harry spoke, softly. "I went back to the safe house yesterday. For the first time since ..."
"Since we were there?"
"Yes." He gave a low laugh. "Everything exactly as we left it." He paused, and then continued with emphasis. "Everything, Ruth."
She thought for a moment about what he might be getting at. Then it came to her. "Oh, God. The Chinese?"
He laughed. "Leftovers still on the table. Transformed into somewhat of a science project."
Ruth laughed too. "Horrible sight to greet you, and I'm sure it smelled wonderful too? Lovely memories I left you with, Harry."
Harry's voice grew gentle again. "Yes. The candles, burned down. The sheets up still. Pen on the table. Bed disarrayed. Lovely memories, Ruth." He sighed softly. "I walked through it and remembered it all."
Ruth quieted too, but then she suddenly asked, "When do you think, Harry? When will it be safe again? Please tell me the truth. Because right now I'm in this exquisite hotel room, in this magnificent city, and I would give anything to be back in that dusty, drab warehouse with you again." Her voice was urgent. "I reach my hands out in front of me and close my eyes and I can almost feel you here. But almost is so hard to bear."
"I know. I feel the same." Harry exhaled. "I had you in my bedroom only once, and now you're there everywhere. You sit in my shirt, watching me get dressed in the morning. You pick out my ties for me. Sometimes I even talk to you, like some demented old man, speaking to shadows." Harry smiled. "Fidget understands, because she sees you too, I suspect. Phoebe thinks we're both daft and tells us so." Harry paused a moment. "And when? Oh, Ruth, if I could answer that, I'd ease my own mind. But I can't. I just don't know."
Ruth paced the room as she spoke. "What would happen if I just walked into England? I've often thought of that. Would I be arrested the moment I set foot there? I was looking at a map the other day. A town called Tweedmouth, nearly as far north as possible. I wondered, would Mace find Sophie there? I would still be in England, living on Sunnyside Crescent in Tweedmouth. There's a lovely cottage for sale. You could drive up on odd Sundays, and we'd set the town gossiping."
Harry smiled. "I'd like that. But if you're finding Paris a bit tedious, how do you think you'd feel about Tweedmouth, my love?" This was the perfect opportunity, and Harry had been thinking about this for some time already. "But it is interesting that you would mention that, because I've had my own daydream recently, and it's rather closer. I wondered if, when things calm down a bit more, we couldn't get you a clerical job with Trans Atlantic Security in Liverpool." He paused, and waited for Ruth's reaction.
She couldn't speak for just a moment. "Harry, if you're teasing me, it's not funny. Are you?"
"Not entirely, Ruth. You know the greatest challenge of disappearing is the paperwork. People always need places to live, and jobs, and have to pay taxes. But you'd have two professionals, who would also be your employers, who could handle all that. It's only a four-hours drive from London, and I've made it twice in the last several weeks. I couldn't help thinking how short it would seem if I were driving up to be with you."
She was nearly speechless. "Harry. Is this possible?"
"Possible? Definitely. Safe? There is the question. But I've asked Tom if they can come up with a scenario that works."
Ruth smiled, her heart full. "Oh, there's more of that hope Sophie was talking about, creeping in. You'll let me know about that scenario?" Ruth's voice sounded wistful. "I miss you so much, Harry, but apart from that, I miss England. I don't think I ever knew how happy I was there until I left it." She paused, thinking, then continued, "And I suspect working for a security firm might offer more excitement, and a far sight more research, than l'Alcove." She stopped herself, realising how she sounded. "Don't mistake me, Harry, I'm very glad for all of it, and it's a lovely bookshop. I've enjoyed it, and very much enjoy Isabelle. But I could also be content to visit her now and again."
Harry agreed. "Well, there's no question that Tom and Christine absolutely could use your help with their little operation. Malcolm is so enamoured of it that I despair of losing him from the Grid."
"Malcolm. My dear Martin Wingate. I'm so grateful to him."
"It was very clever of you to figure all that out, Ruth. It's why you were always so valuable to me as an analyst. Your mind works in ways that are a mystery to me. My first instinct is of the punch and run variety. You finesse things. Your fine motor skills are more sophisticated, and to you, there's always a logical solution. It's just a matter of finding it."
"Not always a solution. Not always." Ruth grew quiet, and they had a moment of silence.
Harry looked at his watch. "Do you know that it's been an hour and a half already since I first called you? Do you find that astonishing?"
Ruth laughed. "If you're looking at your watch, my dear Harry, I might think I'm losing my touch. How will we spend the night on the phone if you're bored after an hour and a half?"
"Quite the opposite, love. I'm rather enjoying this and it's unusual for me. I don't know if you've noticed in your astute analysis, but I am not what one would call a 'phone person.' I tend to say what I need. Hello and goodbye are superfluous."
"Ah, true." Ruth took her voice down to Harry's range, imitating him. "'Yes. Yes. Do it. Yes.'"
Harry laughed. "And that's a long conversation. In that remarkably accurate re-creation, I said 'yes' three times, when one would probably have done." He loved the sound of her laughter, and let it ring in his ear for a moment. "You bring out the best in me, you know." He amended himself, "You see the best in me."
"The best in you has always been there, Harry. I think you just see it now because I love you so well."
"That's a lovely way to put it, Ruth. And you're right, I do look at myself differently now. As I told you, when I forget what I'm worth, I think of you." He paused for a moment. "I wish sometimes that others could see me as you do. I haven't had a proper conversation with and Adam in days."
"What's happened?" Harry gave Ruth a recap of his day with Divine Earth and the fallout after. She breathed deeply, and said, "Ah, yes, the flood story. So hard to know what's really going on just from the papers. God, Harry, what a horrible decision to have to make."
He could hear the true compassion in her voice, and he leant into it. "You said something to me, Ruth, that I've never forgotten. It gave me such comfort when you said it, but I didn't feel I could tell you then, because we were so new."
"What did I say?"
"In the church, in Henley-on-Thames, that first day together. We were talking about Danny, and you said, 'You have to make the hard decisions, Harry. We all have the luxury of judging them.'" Harry sighed, "Ruth, you have no idea what that meant to me, because there are times that I feel, like I did last week, that I'm looking at a scale. On one side are thousands of British citizens, and on the other are just two. The scale wants to tip to the two, because they mean more to me in that moment than all the others. But it can't, and I can't let it."
Harry continued. "I look over at little Jo, with her enormous, round eyes, and she's asking me, so clearly I can hear it, 'Do you know what you're doing? You're killing Adam and Ros.' And yes, I know, but I can't even let her know that I care, because if I do, I'll have to move over to Jo's side of the room, that place where people wait for decisions instead of making them." Harry stopped, and she heard him take a breath.
"Oh, Harry. I want to ask you why you do it, but I know why. You're right, Will Arden does have a way of explaining things to us. He said it already, that you do it because you can't imagine someone doing better. And you're right. No one could." Ruth sighed. "No one could, Harry."
"Thank you, my love. You calm me. I'm so glad to have you here right now." She heard a question being asked in the background. "Hold for a moment, Ruth, can you?" A rustle, then, "Yes, A46, please, at Junction 18." Then he was back, "Sorry, new driver."
Ruth's voice was soft. "Junction 18. To Bath. Oh, Harry, how I wish I was there with you."
"You are. A disembodied voice, but I can imagine the magnificent body that goes with it."
Ruth felt a tingle run down her neck, and lower. "Mmmmm, that feels good. To feel something. Just your voice does that for me."
Now that voice vibrated in her ear. "Do you think, since I'm nearing Bath, that it might be time for you to start the water running?"
Ruth sat up, moving slowly. "I did promise you a bath, didn't I?"
"Yes, and I'll be checking in, getting to my room, and settling myself for this long night. I'm afraid I'll need you to describe everything to me. In detail. Might you be able to do that, my Ruth?"
Ruth laughed, walking toward the armoire. "Ah, so this is one of those phone calls, after all." She reached in and pulled out the bottle of lavender soap. She went into the bath, and turned the tap. Her voice was low, seductive. "I'm turning the tap on, Harry, feeling the water as it goes from cold...to cool...to warm...to hot."
Harry squirmed in his seat, and exhaled loudly, "Oh, Christ, well, this won't take long, will it? Maybe I should have had you wait a bit, at least until I get to the room." She heard him mutter, softly, "Why did I not know you'd be very good at this, Ruth?"
Ruth purred in his ear. "Control, Harry. I know you have it. Exercise some, please." He could hear the water running now. "I'm pouring in the soap, a long, single, silky stream of it, and the bubbles are starting to rise, Harry. Rising, along with the aroma of lavender. I think I should take my clothes off now, so you wait here." He heard her put the phone down, and could hear her voice as if at a distance, echoing. At the same time, he heard the water running, and damned if he didn't think there was a faint aroma of lavender around him.
"First the blouse. It's getting warm in here ... " And as he listened, Harry saw her just as he had that night, standing in front of him, shy and challenging, beautiful, nervous, with so much love in her eyes. While he listened, he arrived at the hotel, and walked up to the clerk to check in.
"I'm stepping into the tub now ..."
The man might have thought his new guest had had a bit too much to drink, standing there with his mobile to his ear, not speaking, eyes glazed. But what he was seeing was a man who existed in two different places at once. Half of him was here at the hotel desk signing the register, and the other half was in a room full of fragrant steam, hearing how the soft, slick lavender bubbles were sliding off of her skin.
"It's so warm, Harry, and you sit across from me, loving me with your eyes ..."
Harry took his small bag up to the room, declining the assistance of the porter. Every now and then, she would say, "Harry? Are you still there?" And he would answer her, "Mmmmm, yes, my love, I'm checking in. I'm going up to the room. Don't stop, please. Keep talking." He never wanted her to stop, wanted her voice to be burned in his memory along with this feeling, his need for her rising with the steam in the room where she bathed.
"Your hands are smooth on my arms, gliding on the soap ..."
He kept the mobile to his ear as he picked up the hotel phone and ordered champagne from room service. His heart was pounding in his chest, listening to her. Two glasses, because he needed to have two glasses. He needed to have her, his Ruth, with him. "Harry?" she asked, when she heard him talking. "Just ordering champagne. We're having it together, you and I."
She murmured back, "Oh, good. That sounds lovely."
And when the champagne arrived, he took up the bottle, the two glasses and the flower from the tray, and walked out of his door and down the hall to the room next to his.
Standing at the door, Harry asked Ruth finally to stop. Whispering into the phone, he said, "Come to your door, my Ruth. There's someone waiting there. Someone who loves you very much."
A moment later, the door flew open, and her reaction was more than Harry could have hoped. The robe askew, quickly tied, tantalizingly revealing her wet skin, from which wafted the aroma of lavender. His Ruth, her eyes shining with tears, looking more lovely than he could have imagined.
This was his fantasy, the one he had nurtured night and day for the last week. But now, looking at the heartbreakingly beautiful reality of her, Harry realised he'd underestimated how full his heart would be. It all but took his breath away.
~~~~~
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Her arms whirled round his neck, her kisses warm and wet over his face, his lips, his eyes, wet not just from the bath, but from her tears. His hands were occupied with the bottle and the glasses, so his arms were around her, but he couldn't touch her. Sheer torture with the white softness of her robe, her moist hair, the lovely feel of her just waiting for him to explore.
"Harry! Oh, God, Harry!" Now he couldn't breathe because she was holding him so tightly, laughing, crying, pulling away for a moment to be sure, then back to him, kissing him. He was laughing too, so full of the joy of her that he couldn't speak, and he buried his face in her hair, her neck, kissing her as he moved her gently into the room, finally managing to close the door behind him.
He found a table, gratefully, and safely put down the bottle, the glasses and the flower. His hands went to her face and he kissed her properly, murmuring into her lips, "I love you," as he had on the train, her mouth feeling as he had imagined it then. He wanted her more now than he could ever remember, and the last three hours had heightened his need, like some sort of extended foreplay.
Now the robe had fallen completely open, and it was impossible for his hands not to find their way beneath it, around her to the humid feel of her back under the thick terrycloth. His fingers moved across her skin, still slick from the soap, soft and warm, as he kissed her more urgently.
Ruth was moving backwards, pulling him with her, toward the bed. For a surreal moment, he saw the picture of this exact room on his computer screen at the Grid. Harry felt as if he had stepped into it, like the Looking Glass, and he wondered if it was real. He closed his eyes and kissed her again. She was real, he knew that. His whole body thrilled to being so close to her.
Ruth thought she might be dreaming, but she didn't care. Harry was here, she could feel him, solid under her hands, his fingers touching her lightly, his mouth firmly on hers. When he'd told her to stop talking, whispered to her to come to the door, she could remember saying out loud, "No. It's not possible." She had spoken it as if it were a secret, trying to save herself the horrible disappointment of room service standing there holding something romantic, only some stranger, and not Harry.
She had stepped carefully out of the tub, keeping her hope in check, but her heart was suddenly hammering in her chest, because she felt it was possible, and, in truth, she sensed him near. The joy she felt in his company was overtaking her, and she knew somehow that he was here. That instead of driving to Bath, he had taken the train to her, was outside her door, waiting to give her the only thing she wanted, the gift of himself. She shrugged haphazardly into the robe, and as she peered through the lens a cry escaped her, one that came directly from her heart. "Harry!"
They were beside the bed now, and he unbuttoned his shirt, still kissing her. She undid his belt and his trousers, and within seconds, they lay on the bed, holding each other, skin to skin, finally calming. Each was beginning to believe in the reality of the other, and they sighed finally in the peace of the memory of who they were together. They held there in a gentle kiss, although they both knew that more would come. For right now, even in their need, they wanted just this.
Now Ruth breathed deeply, and pulled away to look at him, tears in her eyes. "How?" was all she said.
Harry laughed, brushing her damp hair from her eyes. "I take it you were surprised?"
Ruth laughed too, holding him tightly against her, brushing the skin of his shoulder with her lips. "Oh, you're here. I dreamt you and you're here." She leant up and kissed him, lightly. "I'm so happy right now, I can hardly think."
Returning her kiss, he whispered, "Then don't think, my Ruth." He felt her tremble, not knowing if it was from emotion or the slight chill in the room. Harry moved some of the multiple pillows to the floor, then pulled the covers from under them and they scrambled in, seeking the warmth of each other's bodies. Ruth laid her wet head on his shoulder, and he felt the tickle of the dampness as he breathed in the lavender aroma that he now loved better than any other.
Harry sighed, releasing everything he'd worried about since the idea had first occurred to him. This was the perfect ending of his journey, the one he had imagined. The days apart melted away for him, and he felt as if he'd never been without her. His hand moved to her breast, lightly tracing its contours, and he turned to her as she arched toward him, her mouth seeking his.
They would have the whole night together, and the day tomorrow. They would talk, as they always did, about things that were important and things that were not. He would explain it all to her, how he had accomplished it, what it meant to their future, everything.
But first this. His body told him, first this.
He felt her respond to him, pressing closer. It felt the same in that it was Ruth, her same exquisite body, the taste of her, the way she moved with him. But it was different, more profound, because they'd been apart, and they hadn't known when, or if, they would ever see each other again. Whether they would touch each other, or make love again like this.
The last time they'd seen each other, in the cold, grey desolation of that morning on the dock, they had said goodbye with only the faintest glimmer of hope that a moment like this existed in their future. Now as they made love, they knew that if this was possible, then anything was possible.
They had longed for each other through forty-four suns and forty-four moons crossing the sky. And that longing made every touch, every delicate feeling, every inch of skin more precious.
Harry stirred to her finger pushing gently on his chest. He opened his eyes and smiled at her, saying softly, "Ruth, you're poking at me."
Her eyes were sparkling, whether with tears or the love they had just made, he wasn't sure. She whispered a question, "Are you real?"
He drew her to him, kissing her, and murmured against her lips, "After what we just did, my love, if you have to ask me that, I think I'll need to work on my technique."
She laughed, and Harry pulled her closer. He felt so warm here, their skin touching under the covers, her limbs soft and pliable, her body filling the spaces next to his. Her voice was muffled against his chest, "I'm afraid to ask how you managed this. So sneaky, Harry, letting me think you were going to Bath."
He chuckled softly, "You're much too smart, Ruth, to attempt to surprise. I had to throw you off the scent. I thought romance might cloud your judgment." He kissed the top of her head. "Now tell the truth. You really had no idea?"
"Absolutely none. However, now, after the fact, I'm thinking I should have." Harry smiled as she began analysing, more natural to her than breathing. He knew she would love the puzzle of it, once the shock wore off, and he loved listening to her mind work. "So the switching phones part, that was in the tunnel, where there's no reception, yes?"
"Correct."
"And when you told the driver, your new driver, about Junction 18, you were speaking to thin air on the Eurostar?" She felt him nod, his amusement rising. Now she turned and looked at him, incredulous. "Did you even go to the River? All that talk about the couples strolling by, the lights of the city?" He shook his head, trying to look guilty, but failing miserably.
"You were at St. Pancras to catch the train, weren't you? Those were the voices I heard." Ruth's eyes grew wide, but there was merriment in them. "Harry! This points to a very devious streak in you!"
Harry finally let his smile have free rein. "I'm a spy, Ruth. It's what I do. Did you not think I knew how?"
"And you asking me to tell you the hotel? The website?" She looked at him, laughing, "You had to work fast, didn't you? And you couldn't have done it alone." Ruth covered her face with her hand, "Oh, God, how many of them know about this?"
Harry put his hands up in front of her so she could see. "Hmmmm, well, there's ... and, then, of course ... and ... " He counted interminably on his fingers, to her mounting horror, and when he started the second round of his left hand, she said, "Harry!" and laughed.
He smiled at her. "Somewhat fewer than that, Ruth. Malcolm, of course, but I told him this time we would prefer he didn't watch the little boxes. Zaf drove me to St. Pancras and cleared me to get on the train, and Tom and Christine are actually having their own weekend in Paris and made sure I was safe from Gare du Nord. So four, plus us."
Something suddenly occurred to Ruth, and she turned serious, her eyes narrowing. "What does this mean, Harry, that you could do this? I know you wouldn't if it put me in any danger, so that must mean that I'm not?" Her brow furrowed. "Is that what it means?"
He knew she was asking a serious question, and he knew he should answer seriously. It was very important, Harry knew that, but he couldn't stop looking at the lines in her forehead, and he couldn't stop his finger from reaching out to smooth them, gently, as he smiled at her. He exhaled sharply as he touched her, and his eyes were soft with love. He took her face in his hands and drew her to him, grazing her forehead with his lips. "I love you." It was all he could manage to say. He knew he needed to focus, but they were here together, the way they had been, and he had missed it so much.
Her brow calmed, and she smiled. "I love you, too." She brought her lips up to his quickly, and then she pulled away again. Her voice was softer this time. "Harry? What does it mean?"
"It means things seem to have ... relaxed a bit, Ruth." He reached over to the floor and retrieved pillows for both of them to put behind their backs. "Mace appears to be gone. No one knows where, but either he was given early retirement and his own form of exile, or he's simply exiled himself." To the question in her eyes, Harry said, "I don't know what that means. No one can find him. But the result of that is that his people seem to be without direction, they've scattered. And that has left me unwatched for the most part."
Harry continued, "For a week, I had Tom, Christine and Zaf taking turns spending every moment I was off the Grid watching me, following, and they saw not a soul. So that part of it may be over, at least for now." Harry reached up and touched her neck, and his head tilted in a question.
She knew what he wanted. Slipping out of bed, she went to the armoire and retrieved the necklace, putting it on. "I don't wear it in the bath." She looked at him sheepishly. "I worry." Ruth climbed quickly back into bed, feeling suddenly shy even in the half-light.
"I've missed seeing it," Harry said, leaning down to kiss the charms. He held his mouth there for a moment longer and she felt him sigh deeply. "I've missed you, Ruth."
Stroking his hair, Ruth leant back on the pillows. "Sometimes I want to have you near to me like this so much, that I think I'll lose my mind to it." She curled her finger in the soft strands of hair at his neck. "I want to come home, Harry. I'm not sure I care anymore what it means."
He burrowed his head in her sweet-smelling hair, trying to memorise her. "I want you home." More softly, whispering, he said, "I want you in myhome. Every night, every morning." He pulled away and looked in her eyes. "But I do care what it means."
He rolled over so they were side by side, and Ruth curled to face him. "You said yourself that Mace is gone. Doesn't that make it easier?"
"Unfortunately, they're two different issues. My worry was always that Mace had a strong incentive to prove you weren't actually dead, because he's not a man who enjoys being fooled. But the fact is, Ruth Elizabeth Evershed needs to stay deceased until we find out who did kill Maudsley, and who Fox is, because those are the two things of which you were accused."
Harry pulled her close to him, as if holding her would protect her from this truth. "So, in answer to your question, if you walked back in to England as Ruth Evershed, you would be arrested, not only for Maudsley's murder, collusion in the Cotterdam fire and everything that went with it, but also for fraud, fleeing the country, treason and whatever else they could think of."
"What if I stepped into the country as Sophie Persan?"
"Well, yes, Sophie would have an easier time of it, that's certainly true. But Sophie happens to look just exactly like Ruth Evershed. A rose by any other name, my love. You couldn't come to London for fear of being seen, and it's my belief you would spend your time peering around corners even in Tweedmouth."
Ruth held him closer, knowing this was as hard for him as it was for her. "I peer around corners in Paris as it is." After a long moment of silence, she sighed deeply. Harry could hear her trying to raise her spirits. "I won't be ungrateful. Having you here right now is more than I'd allowed myself to hope." She turned and looked up into his eyes. "This is wonderful, Harry. Can we do this again?"
Harry kissed her still slightly damp hair. "Yes. " He paused for a moment. " And maybe more."
Ruth thought he had deliberately injected the sound of mystery into that last statement, and now she was intrigued. "You're full of surprises tonight. What do you mean, maybe more?"
Harry had imagined telling her this, but he had to admit he hadn't thought it would be in bed. "Not really pillow talk, Ruth. It's more Grid talk."
Her eyes lit up and she pulled back to look at him. "Does it mean I get to be a spy again? If I have to put my clothes on to hear it, I will." She started to move toward the edge of the bed, and Harry pulled her back, laughing.
"No, don't go. I used to imagine you in briefings this way anyway." Ruth laughed and settled back down, waiting for him to continue. "Ruth, when you said you were getting bored, did you mean it?"
Ruth sighed. "Oh, yes, Harry. I thought when I got on that boat I could never feel bored again, but it didn't take long, did it?"
Harry paused, wondering how to frame this new idea. Then he decided that direct would be best. "Would you like to travel with me somewhere?"
Now she jumped up to sit looking at him, taking most of his covers and holding them discreetly around her. "Oh, Harry, are you serious? God, yes, anywhere with you!"
"You may regret saying that, but I can't get this idea out of my head. You'll need to talk me out of it, and you may want to." He sat up too, leaning back against the pillows.
"Where, Harry?"
"Baghdad."
A bit of the wind went out of her sails. "Baghdad? Not the ideal tourist destination these days, really." Ruth had actually seen an item on the internet that rated hotels there not only by the usual star system, but also on how well they would withstand a bomb blast. "Why Baghdad?"
Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed, and found his trousers on the floor, putting them on as he stood up. "Champagne? It's a shame to have it go to waste." He reached down and found his shirt, and handed it to Ruth, kissing her gently. He said softly in her ear, "Another shirt I can enshrine. I'll remember you in it all day long when I wear it again."
Ruth smiled and put it on, following him to the loveseat, the one that she had cried on just hours ago, thinking she would spend the night alone. The tears were dry, and Harry was here. She watched him open the bottle and pour it out into the champagne flutes, and she couldn't remember being happier.
Harry handed her the glass and snuggled in next to her, his arm round her back. He touched his glass to hers, and said softly, "To my love." Ruth kissed him gently and said, "To our love." They each took a sip and felt the bubbles move down their throats, and Ruth leant over and kissed him more deeply, wanting to taste it with him. Her head began to spin just a little, and she murmured, "White burgundy and thermobaric bombs. Champagne and Baghdad. It doesn't change much, does it, Harry?"
He smiled and put his glass down, moving to kiss her again, "Except that this is a better venue than the restaurant." His hand moved from her thigh to her waist and he felt the soft skin there. She put her hand over his, tenderly, "Later, Harry. You've got me curious, and now you have to complete that thought. Why Baghdad?"
Harry moved reluctantly away and took a deep breath. "Right. Well. I know I told you that I've talked quite a bit with Christine about the CIA, and I said she hadn't told me anything she shouldn't? That's true, but I suppose it's a matter of perspective. I think there are some in the CIA that might think she's told me a bit too much."
Ruth sipped again at her champagne, interested. "What has she told you?"
Picking up his glass, Harry said, "She's given me some information I can't ignore." He leant back against the arm of the loveseat so he could see Ruth better. "She has some old friends, colleagues, that keep in touch with her, and they've fed her something that they wanted her to pass on to someone in England." Ruth waited for him to go on. "There's a clandestine operation planned, of which her friends don't approve. Christine agrees it has to be stopped, so she told me. But this has to be done completely under the radar."
Harry saw Ruth's eyes begin to dance, and he knew she was going to say it. He waited for it, and wasn't disappointed. "Oh, goody," she said.
Harry smiled, and then continued. "So this is the operation. There's a man in the CIA, name is Libby McCall, who we believe is planning to smuggle a large quantity of weapons-grade uranium into Iraq, to Baghdad. Once it's there, it will be miraculously discovered, resulting in panic and mistrust in America and a free ride for the military through the U.S. Congress on a number of issues."
Harry watched Ruth's brow furrow again. She shook her head in disbelief. "Why now, Harry? The war's been going on for, what, three years?"
"It seems there are some converging news investigations that are turning up evidence of fraud in the American Reconstruction effort. Separately, there's a report of mysterious civilian deaths that were motivated by the murder of a Marine, not to mention that the war has been less than successful, and civilian casualties are actually on the rise since it began. There's some bad press coming, and McCall is hoping to create bigger news with the uranium."
Ruth sighed. "Ah, yes, well, weapons grade uranium would be news."
"Smoke and mirrors, a public relations stunt. With uranium. Christ. But most of all, Stateside, it vindicates the war. We're not certain whether or not this is a sanctioned operation, but we do know that the President has no desire for Iraq to be thought of as another Vietnam."
Ruth took his hand in hers. "And you want to stop them. But Harry, you can't do this all on your own. No back-up?"
"I've spoken with the Home Secretary, but he sent me directly up the ladder. I've been given orders to do whatever I can, but I won't have the backing of the Government if something goes wrong. It's too sensitive, and might well be considered none of our bloody business." Harry gave a low chuckle. "Best of both worlds, Ruth. If it works, no one knows. If it fails, I'm hung out to dry." He topped off both of their glasses. "I need to leave the Grid fully staffed while I'm gone, but I need a companion on this one. Will you come?"
"I suppose this tests the 'I'll go anywhere with you' statement." Ruth smiled and took a small pause. "I love you, Harry. Of course I will, but how can I?"
"As I said, this is entirely under the radar. We have private aircraft taking us as far as Polis, Cyprus, where we'll stay the night. Then another will put us in Baghdad. No papers required. But there's no such thing as a safe trip into Baghdad, Ruth."
"I've had safe, Harry. I'm ready to leap out of my skin with safe."
"You're the perfect person to go with me for so many reasons. First of all, much as I know you hate to hear it, you don't exist. Secondly, I need someone else, someone I trust absolutely, to know how this all turns out. It's too dangerous for me to be the only one who knows. And you have skills I don't have, skills of the sort that Malcolm has, that I depend on. My third reason is not germane to the health of the Realm, but it's germane to me." He put his hand up and touched her cheek. "I want you with me. Paris is directly on the way, Ruth. I'm practically passing by your flat."
"I'll wait outside, then, and be ready to grab your hand as you fly by." She laughed. "So, what's the plan?"
"Our plan is to find the uranium, preferably without McCall finding out, and get it out of Iraq. There seems to be some involvement with Indian Intelligence, a freelancer named Amish Mani that McCall has been meeting. Christine has also heard some rumblings about Six. In any case they're all people who have a vested interest in the continuation of the war."
"So, we get it out. Where will it go?"
"There's an abandoned nuclear shelter in Norfolk, was built in the Cold War years. We'll put it there at least until we can sort this out. But the PM and the Home Secretary don't want to hear another word about it. Plausible deniability. So I'll need you to know where it is as well. You and I will be the only ones who know."
Ruth took another sip of champagne, and shook her head. She just couldn't stop the smile, the one that made her eyes laugh when she was doing this work. It had been missing since she went to Paris. "God help me, Harry, it sounds exciting, and important, and so completely different from anything I'm doing now. Will it be dangerous?"
"I know it sounds it, but not really. Adam is fully briefed on this, but he's the only one. Even if we're found out, the CIA isn't going to harm a senior British Intelligence Officer. McCall is looking for good press, not bad. I'm not sure why the Indian Intelligence Bureau is involved, or MI6, but in any case, I should think if we're caught, we'll all sit down and have a nice chat about it. The only thing McCall has going for him is secrecy. Once it's clear he won't be able to use it as a public relations coup, we'll likely slap his hand, have a drink, and go home."
Ruth sighed. "And a night in Cyprus. How wonderful. In Polis, you say?"
"Yes, by the sea. In a small hotel. Do you know why I chose Polis, Ruth?" Harry paused, his eyes holding hers. "Not only is it on a line between Paris and Baghdad, it's near to where Aphrodite and Adonis used to meet."
Ruth smiled, her voice soft. "Yes, I did know that, but you knew I would, didn't you? That's very romantic, Harry. So a moment of peace together in an idyllic setting, before we go into the lion's den? Is that to be the ongoing pattern of this relationship?" She was teasing, but she couldn't keep the hint of anxiety out of her voice.
"We'll be together, my Ruth. We should only be gone a few days, so Isabelle should be able to do without you. And maybe by the time we come back, the others will have made some headway on getting you cleared."
"When will we go, Harry? How soon?"
"Soon. Next week."
They never finished the bottle of champagne. It sat open, its bubbles disappearing one by one, as they pulled the warmth of the covers around them and lay talking, curled together. The bubbles in the still-filled tub had vanished long ago. Harry's room, with his bag just inside the door, stayed undisturbed.
Harry nuzzled into her neck, telling her stories of Phoebe and Fidget and their domination over poor Scarlet. Ruth laughed and, in turn, told Harry about Paris, with its kind, open people and the delicious, rich aromas of the patisseries and chocolatiers.
And although she had hedged her bets early in the phone call, there was no singing, or reading of 'War and Peace' required. Harry and Ruth each drifted asleep with the other's voice soft in their ears.
~~~~~
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
They awakened still curled together. The incredible luxury of opening their eyes to see the person they most treasured, reaching fingers out to find the other there, felt like the stuff of fantasy. But gradually, as they woke, they knew it was real.
"Good morning." Harry whispered softly in her ear, rubbing against her neck.
Ruth smiled sleepily and whispered back, "Mornings don't get any better than this one, Harry." She felt a tear begin to escape, and she moved against the pillow to absorb it. She couldn't look at him right now. Her heart was too full. So she held him close, moving her head under his chin.
So little time. Ruth tried to recall the dream that was hovering just on the edge of her memory, the one she'd had last night, lying in his arms. She was on some sort of carousel, with Harry standing off to the side. She saw him once every revolution, fleeting, somewhat blurry as she flew past. She tried to reach out and touch him, but then he was gone, and she just missed him each time. He stood there, smiling, clearly loving her, but they couldn't touch.
Not a dream, a nightmare, really. And much too close to reality.
And what she felt as she woke was just that: So little time. She held him now, their skin warm and touching everywhere under the plush hotel duvet. They had held each other all night, breathing the same air, trying even in sleep to steal time together. And still she wanted more. There wasn't enough time to allow things to simply evolve. Ruth didn't know when she would get this chance again, so she made a decision.
She watched her hand on his chest, her fingers tracing circles there as she talked. "What you did last night, Harry, coming to me? I'll never forget it, as long as I live. Not expecting you, and then seeing you, was a happiness I've never felt before. It's far and away the most romantic thing that's ever been done for me."
He started to move, but she stopped him. "No, let me say this, because I need to. What you said on the phone, about how important it was to you that I know you'll always love me, no matter what happens? I feel the same. I want you to know that, too." She paused for so long that she felt him begin to stir, as if he might say something. Before he did, she took a deep breath and said, "What's happened with my house, Harry?"
It was a little too early in the morning for Harry to race with her through this thought process, but it was less of a non-sequitur than he thought. Ruth was moving in an orderly line here, although he didn't know it. He took a breath, and said, "I've kept it, Ruth. For when you come back. I'll pay on it until then."
"But the will we drew up? Before I died? I gave the house to you, yes?" Ruth pulled away now, and rolled over on her stomach so she could look at him. "I want you to see if you can find a buyer for it, Harry. You told me last night that you want me to come live with you? I want to."
As the monumental nature of what she had just said really sunk in, it was too hard to look at him, and Ruth's cheeks coloured spectacularly. She turned again and put her head on his chest, her heart pounding. She felt his heart speed, too, just under her ear.
In truth, Harry was suddenly overcome with an emotion he hadn't expected. Long ago, when he'd asked Jane to marry him, it was done with all the ignorance of youth, the obliviousness that came with not understanding what "the rest of your life" really meant. Now, here with Ruth, he knew exactly what it meant, and his heart was filled with seeing the days stretched out, waking to her, making love, washing dishes, reading the paper, her sweet smile across the table, the ongoing communion with that glorious mind of hers.
He saw it all. It gripped him with the combination of elation and terror that is contained in all things that are simultaneously deeply wished for and frighteningly new. Harry was a man who considered himself to have seen and done it all, and Ruth was continuing to give him new experiences of himself. Here was another, he thought, his heart racing. He was considering doing the thing he said he would never do again. He was inviting a woman into his life.
And yes, he'd been asking it of Ruth, right up to their last moments on the dock. But now she was accepting him, and Harry suddenly realised that the asking and the acceptance were entirely different things.
He felt her move away from him, just slightly. "Harry, you're taking too long to answer." Her voice got a little smaller. "Did I misunderstand you?"
His reaction was immediate. "No. No, you didn't misunderstand, Ruth. Yes, I've asked you. Over and over, feels like. Thought I might have been becoming a bit of a pest, actually." He pulled her closer to him, speaking firmly into her hair, "Yes, I want it, more than I can tell you. I don't know what I was just feeling. Nerves, I suspect."
Ruth rolled over and could look at him again. "You, too? Thank God. Scary, isn't it?" Now she was animated, speaking quickly. "It's like hurtling off a mountain, but I don't want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else. You told me about the cats last night, and I was jealous of them, Harry!" Ruth laughed, "They sleep on your bed, on my bloody side of the bed, thanks, and I want to be there."
Harry couldn't keep the surprised look off his face. This was all incredible to him, on so many levels. As if from a distance, he heard himself say, resolutely and without hesitation, "And I want you there."
They just looked at each other for a moment, and then both smiled. Ruth moved up into his arms and kissed him. "Well, that's that then."
They lay in stunned silence for a time. There were pictures forming in their heads that didn't need to be shared, not yet anyway. Ruth wondering where in the hell her clothes would go, with all those ties to keep straight. Harry wondering how she would put up with his habits and his moodiness. And, in the end, none of those things mattered.
The feeling they both shared in this moment was happiness, although their confusion made it difficult to truly enjoy. When you move through your days thinking something can never happen, and then it does, preparation is lacking. And Harry and Ruth were two people who liked to be prepared.
Harry was so overcome that he almost leapt completely off the cliff and asked her to marry him. The words were there, but somehow they just wouldn't come out. In the end, he told himself he'd scaled enough mountains for one day, and should just leave well enough alone. She wasn't moving in tomorrow, after all, although he thought he might like that very much.
The silence lengthened, with Harry staring at the ornate white ceiling of the hotel room, and Ruth surveying every inch of Harry's chest. But neither of them were in the room, really. They were both walking through Harry's house, room by room, imagining the other there.
Both were also, if they were completely honest, imagining a day in the future when they might stand in front of others and finally speak the secret aloud. Harry wondered if Ruth would take his name, and Ruth wondered how nervous Harry would be. Both believed in marriage. Harry because he knew this time it would be so different, and that his Ruth deserved that ultimate commitment from him. Ruth because it meant pledging yourself to someone you trusted with your whole heart, and to her, that someone was the man she held right now.
Finally, Harry took a sudden deep breath, so deep in fact, that it was as if he had been under water for a long time, and he realised he hadn't been breathing much in the last few minutes. It was so loud that Ruth looked up at him, and when she did, his face was so stricken that she began laughing. Which then got him laughing.
She circled him with her arms, and said, "You okay, Harry?"
He exhaled. "Christ, I think so. What did we just decide?" The laughter was cathartic, and he felt so much better.
Ruth breathed now, too. "I think we just decided to cohabitate." She looked up at him, still laughing, "Big decision, really. Did we get enough sleep to make a decision like that? Are we under duress?"
He turned to her, still smiling, but he was serious now. "I want it, Ruth. I want all the clichés. To wake up with you every morning, and fall asleep with you every night. I want to see you in my kitchen ... in our kitchen, as we make omelettes together. I want to be reading a book with my bloody glasses on my nose, and look up to find you there, peering at me the way you do when you really love me."
She leant up and kissed him, "Which is all the time."
He laughed, "We'll see about that. Tell me the same thing after you've lived under the same roof with me for awhile. I'm not easy, Ruth."
Ruth touched her fingers to his cheek. "I know all about you, Henry James Pearce. Neither of us is easy. And while you're seeing all those lovely clichés, you might want to throw in a fight or two, just for a little touch of reality. I might not like the way you make omelettes, and I may be irritated by your feet on the table while you read. But I'll never love you any less than I do right now, and that's more than you can imagine."
Harry took her face in his hands and kissed her, lightly. When he pulled away, his eyes were so full of love that Ruth felt it move through her with a palpable warmth. "I love you, Ruth. From this moment forward, I'll have trouble imagining the house without you in it. Come live with me, then. Make it our house. Tell me I snore, and to take out the rubbish, and love me still."
"I will, Harry. And you can tell me how bloody particular I am, and that the cat fuzz needs tending, and that perhaps I don't have to be right everytime. And you can love me still."
"I will, Ruth."
The symbolism of the words they'd just said, and how they'd said them, was not lost on either of them. They both knew that what they had decided would be on hold until Ruth's situation was sorted out, and both knew that, of course, it made the words easier to say. But they had said them, and it was no small thing.
Harry kissed his way slowly across her brow, then eyes, then cheeks, until he found her lips. This time, they made love tenderly, not with a sense of need, but with a feeling of the commitment they'd just made. It was a commitment to the type of love designed to last forever.
She finally got to see him shave, and it was a good, old-fashioned shave, which was what she had hoped. Now she knew why he always smelled so wonderful. Edwin Jagger natural sandalwood shave soap, genuine badger hair shave brush, all-metal Chatsworth Range double-edged razor. Nothing but the best for that face.
Ruth sighed, her mouth slightly open, as if he were making love to her again. "Cripes, it's like watching a dance, it's so beautiful," she said softly at his shoulder. "I almost hear music, Harry."
He laughed, pulling the razor away just in time. "What is the appeal with women of watching men shave? It's a daily chore, you know?" He lifted his chin, careful while he talked not to cut himself. "Instead of the Grand Tour, maybe I'll take you to an island somewhere. We'll live in a thatched hut and I'll grow a beard Robinson Crusoe would covet."
"I'd love you just as much." She kissed him on the bare shoulder and started the water running to warm it, pulling the curtain round the tub. No bath today, as Harry told her they didn't have time. She hadn't protested, because they both knew what baths led to in their history. She dropped the robe and stepped in.
Harry finished shaving as she showered, occasionally wiping the rapidly rising steam from the mirror. After a time, Ruth put her head out of the curtain and asked the question she hadn't asked yet. "How long do we have, Harry?"
"I go back tonight. I don't want to, but I also don't want to push our luck. I'm on the 9:13 train. But remember, we have next week." He leant over and kissed her face, leaving some musky shave cream on her cheek in the process.
"Okay." Ruth ducked back through the curtain as he wiped his face with a towel, and Harry raised his voice so she could hear him. "But my room is booked for tonight as well, so there won't be another check-out time looming over our heads." He peeked through the shower curtain, and smiled at the lovely sight of her. "I told you we were having lunch out, but I didn't tell you the rest."
She smiled at him and pulled the curtain closed. "Privacy, please. Item number one for living together, remember to lock the bathroom door."
"Good God, Ruth, starting the list already?" To himself, he muttered, laughing, "Oh, Harry, you're in trouble, and you've no one but yourself to blame."
"Did you say something?"
He answered quickly and in a much louder voice to carry over the shower. "Just wondered if you weren't curious to know what we're doing?"
"The Louvre? You owe me that, you know."
"No, that's for another time. I'm not sure I could share you with the Masters today," Bravely, he pulled the curtain aside once more, his voice low and seductive, "Not for the time it takes to see everything I want to see."
Ruth laughed and pushed his face away with a very wet hand. "Everything you want to see here, or there, Harry?" She turned off the shower, finally giving up. "Okay, I'll get ready, and you can just surprise me." She stepped out as he handed her a towel. "I like your surprises." Wrapping the towel around her, Ruth moved toward him and kissed him.
Harry smiled against her lips, "Mmmmm, I seem perpetually to be getting wet kisses from you, my Ruth. Not quite like after a lavender bath, but the hotel soap is nice, too."
"As is your shaving cream. We do smell good, and if we hadn't already, I might be tempted to take you to bed." She pulled away quickly and began walking toward the armoire. "But I'm hungry."
Harry laughed, shaking his head as he followed her. "Why does this not surprise me?"
~~~~~
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