CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The cafe was lovely, as if it appeared straight off a Parisian postcard. Harry managed to find a place that felt private and out of the way, but still offered Ruth's favourite pastime of people-watching. They had only been there for a few minutes when Ruth heard a lovely, familiar voice behind her.
"Hello, stranger." She turned and her mouth opened in delight.
"Tom!" Ruth stood and put her arms around him, laughing. "Oh, it's good to see you! I've missed you!"
Tom laughed too, and whispered to her, "Hey, I'm not the one who died, you know." He held her at arm's length, surveying her. "You look pretty good, for that."
Ruth smiled over at Harry, who was standing to greet them. "Harry has restorative powers." She held the look for longer than she might have intended, but Harry's soft smile wouldn't let her look away.
Tom glanced at Christine, who stood beside him. It was the first time they'd seen Harry and Ruth together since before Tom had left the Grid. Christine smiled up at Tom and nodded her head slightly. Over the moon, no question about it.
Ruth finally turned and gave Christine a warm hug, saying, "The phone call was great. Thanks for that."
Christine smiled back, "Got a little more than you bargained for, though, didn't you?"
Ruth laughed as she turned to sit down again. "God help me, three spies conspiring against me. I didn't stand a chance."
When they were all seated, the waiter came over for their drink order. Harry wanted to celebrate, so he chose a bottle of very good champagne for them to share.
Harry turned to Ruth and said, "I didn't think you'd mind if we had company for lunch."
Ruth beamed a radiant smile at Tom and Christine. "God, no. This is wonderful. I've lived in Paris for over a month and have only eaten alone or with Isabelle." She looked back at Harry. "You're making memories for me, aren't you? Here, in Paris."
Harry took her hand in his. "Yes. And for me, with you here in Paris." The champagne came and the glasses were poured out. Harry raised his glass, and said, looking at Ruth, "To the fourth chair, finally filled."
They touched four glasses in the centre of the table and Ruth felt she was part of a community for the first time since she came to Paris. She turned to Harry and tilted her head slightly, her eyes soft, thanking him. She was so used to communicating with him in public using only her eyes, that she didn't even think of coming right out and saying it. But without so much as a glance to Tom and Christine, he leant over and kissed her lightly on the lips.
In public, in a cafe, in front of friends. An acknowledging kiss, done so easily, so casually. Something that people do every day. Her mind travelled from the moment she had asked Harry to keep their secret, there in his house in her slippers and pyjamas, to this moment now, exiled in Paris. They had kissed in Henley-on-Thames and in Bath, but they were the banker and the shopgirl then, unknown to the people who passed by. They had kissed in front of Adam and Zaf, but that was on Regents Hill, a spy's meeting place, and still secret.
Somehow this was different, and Ruth finally let go of the pledge they had made to each other in Harry's house that night. Completely, once and for all. She would love him and everyone could see, and damn the consequences. She put down her glass, placed her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him, properly. Not a long kiss, not a deep one, but one that was unmistakeable. One that left Harry rather flustered, his eyes dancing.
Christine took Tom's hand under the table and squeezed it gently. She didn't need to say it, and he didn't need to hear it. They were both thinking the same thing. This is why they were working so hard to get Ruth home.
Picking up her glass again, Ruth had a somewhat defiant look, mixed in with pure joy. She felt powerful, new, the opposite of helpless. It was a very good feeling. One more glance at Harry, and then she turned, looking at Christine and Tom. "So where are you staying in Paris?"
"Britannique, same as you," Tom said. "Couple of floors below. Thanks for choosing such a nice place, by the way." He smiled at her, that wonderful Tom smile that seemed to fill the width of his face. "Didn't know until last night where we'd be staying."
Ruth laughed and put her head in her hand, "Cripes, what a production number this was. Black ops have nothing on you lot. I just thought I was having a quiet night away from the flat. Had no idea I'd be trailing an entourage."
Christine smiled and said, "Well, this beats the hell out of white collar crime surveillance in Liverpool. It's been a little second honeymoon for us. Except when I was here to see you, Ruth, I can't remember the last time I was in Paris. And the last time we were here together?" She looked at Tom.
"Hmmm, last year, April?" Tom looked over at Ruth. "Long time. We love it here." He looked back at Christine and took her hand up and kissed it. "We should come here more often."
Harry smiled at Ruth. "See what I've had to put up with? Dinners with these two, with me as the definition of the third wheel." He took Ruth's hand and kissed it, giving Tom a sly look, which was promptly returned. "Get to give them some of their own medicine, now you're here, my Ruth."
The waiter arrived, took their orders, and filled their glasses all around.
Ruth sipped her champagne. "And how do you like Liverpool? Your business is good?" She was asking because she cared, of course, but she couldn't forget what Harry had said about the possibility of her working there someday.
Tom shrugged slightly, "I can't say we're setting the world on fire, but we've got business enough. Small brick building just down from John Moores University. We say we either run the business from our home, or we live over the shop. Either way, it's a bloody fabulous commute."
"And Malcolm came to visit you?"
Christine laughed, "He's amazing. Practically the perfect man. Fixes computers while reciting poetry. How is it that he's not married?"
Tom nodded. "A godsend for our computer system. Held together with string and sticky plasters, and now there's nothing we can't do. Seemed like all he did was touch it and he knew what was wrong, that sixth sense of his."
Harry looked at Tom in mock warning. "No stealing him from me until I'm ready, Tom. I have a feeling when he decides to retire from the Grid, he'll make a beeline to Liverpool." Harry turned to Ruth. "He stayed in a hotel by the sea and came back talking about how his mother would love it there. Said he'd made his way through a book a day and felt absolute peace. I fear he may be planning his escape."
Ruth laughed. "You'd be lucky to have him. I always felt we were." For a moment, a cloud passed over Ruth's face, and everyone saw it. She sighed, and looked down at her hands. Then she looked at Harry, and said, "You are. I was. Can't seem to keep my tenses straight." She looked up at Tom and Christine and said, "Sorry."
Tom took her hand across the table. "Don't be. We know, Ruth. You despair of ever having a real life and then you leave the Services and suddenly you've got one, but you don't quite know how to live it. We know."
His eyes held hers, and Ruth could only think how good he looked. No more of the horrible conflict on his face, his eyes clear and bright. He had been a brilliant officer, one of the best, but he cared too much about the little things, like people. He lost sight of the bigger picture, the one that Harry had described as "the scale." That the thousands of people who might be killed by a bomb outweighed one sleeper who had the power to stop it. It was good that Tom left, because he looked truly happy now.
Ruth looked down again. "That's exactly how I feel, Tom. But there's a difference between us. I still want to be there. I miss it so much I can hardly stand it sometimes. I don't know what to do with myself." She looked up at him. "As I said to you once, 'I'm an analyst with nothing to analyze.'"
Tom, smiling, released her hand slowly and took a sip from his glass. "Adrenaline withdrawal." He looked over at Harry, his eyebrows raised. "Isn't that what you called it, Harry?"
"Yes." Harry was glad this was coming up here, and he had assumed it would. A little peer therapy never hurt, and Tom and Christine were two who had not only survived, but thrived. Just in case Ruth could never come back to the Grid, just in case she ended up working for a time at Trans Atlantic Security, he wanted her to know she had people who understood.
Not everything Harry did had an underlying purpose, but this lunch did. Actually a number of them. To give her some happiness with friends in Paris. To let her get to know Tom and Christine, whom he liked enormously. But also to set up a connection for her with two friends who had gone through what she was going through now. It was why he was being so quiet. He sat and sipped his champagne, and listened.
Christine sat back in her chair, "You learn to replace it, I think. The adrenaline goes away and you start to understand that it was artificial, like drinking too much coffee. I guess you could say we're in adrenaline recovery. One day at a time."
She smiled at Ruth, continuing. "But we have our little excitements now and then. Just last week someone tried to ferry out to the Isle of Man with some industrial intellectual property and we had a good old fashioned chase, right up to the dock." She looked over at Tom, who was gazing at her as she spoke, and so clearly loved her. "Just like real spies."
Ruth smiled, and really meant it. She so liked these two. "The woman I work for, Isabelle, is a fantastic person. She's had a very full life, and now she sits surrounded by books in such tranquillity. I sometimes wish I could be happy with that life, and I imagine someday I will be. When I have a life to look back on, like she does." Ruth put her hand over Harry's on the table, and looked penetratingly at him. "Isabelle had a long and happy marriage, with a husband she adored, and that feeds her soul still, I suspect."
Harry took a deep breath and then exhaled, just looking at her. Something had changed, right here at the table, and now he knew what it was. Ruth wasn't hiding anymore, wasn't holding anything back. She wasn't awkward, shy, or secretive. Her eyes were clear and open, the way they were after they made love, the way they looked when she really wanted to convince him that she loved him without a doubt.
And because he knew this Ruth wouldn't mind, he simply said it, out loud. A man telling his friends the good news. Except he hadn't turned to Tom and Christine. His eyes were still locked on Ruth's. "When Ruth comes back to England, she's agreed to move in with me." He took her hand and kissed it. "And one of these days, I'm going to marry her, if she'll have me."
In the silence that ensued, it seemed the only one at the table who was truly surprised he said it was Harry. The other three simply smiled at him, although Ruth's cheeks turned a lovely shade of strawberry. He had already alluded to it so many times, and she'd put him off, saying to wait, but now she asked herself, wait until when? Truth be told, after the decision they had made this morning, and the words they had spoken, she almost felt married. Hadn't they each said "I will"?
So her eyes still on Harry's, she said softly, "One of these days, she just might."
After a moment, Tom laughed, shaking his head, "I wouldn't be anywhere else on the planet right now. That was amazing."
When Harry looked at him, still a bit shell-shocked, Tom said, "Harry, you just proposed, you old dog. And you bloody did it in front of witnesses." He reached over and clasped Harry's hand from the table, shaking it, smiling broadly, "No wriggling out of this one. Done deal." He was still chuckling as he leant over to Harry. "And I'm pretty sure she said yes."
Tom gave his wife a kiss for good measure, and then looked back at Harry and Ruth, who hadn't moved. "It's about damn time, you two." He picked up his glass, which was empty, and looked over at the bottle which had been upended in the bucket. "Bloody hell, this requires more alcohol." He caught the eye of the waiter and ordered another.
Harry and Ruth hadn't moved yet, but now Ruth leant over and kissed him.
After a moment, she put her lips near his ear and said, tenderly, "I did say yes, Harry."
The second bottle was upended in the bucket before they finally pushed away from their plates, satisfied. They hadn't laughed too loudly, but they had laughed a lot. They were good together, the four of them, as Harry knew they would be, as he had imagined through his multiple dinners as the third wheel with the empty fourth chair.
The bottle of champagne that Tom ordered came quickly, and at just about the same time, the food arrived. So there was no more evidence that a proposal had been made and accepted. Except, of course, for Tom's joviality, Christine's soft smiles, and the immeasurable love that shone in both Harry and Ruth's eyes every time they looked at each other, which was somewhat less than every minute or thereabouts.
It was nearly four in the afternoon when they stood, Harry and Tom shaking hands, Ruth and Christine hugging, promising another meal, hopefully in London but if not, in Paris, soon. Then they switched, and Ruth hugged Tom with great affection, hearing him whisper in her ear, "Congratulations, Ruth. I've never seen him so happy." And Christine and Harry exchanged a light hug, as new friends do. Then the two couples separated.
The four of them would meet in the lobby of the hotel in time for the 9:13 train at Gare du Nord, with a stop off at Ruth's flat to drop her. So Harry and Ruth had nearly four hours left, four precious hours together.
There was one last thing Harry wanted to do before they went back to the hotel. It was something that Sophie had mentioned in one of her letters: "I suppose if one must be desperately without the love of one's life, then Paris is a beautiful place to do it, but it does come served up on a double-edged sword. I haven't ventured out to the typical lovers' spots, the boat ride on the Seine, the Eiffel Tower, la Passerelle des Arts, primarily to avoid the ever-present couples strolling there... So I will wait to do the romantic things in Paris until I have company approaching."
There wasn't time to do the first two, the Seine or the Tower, but he could take her to the bridge. La Passerelle des Arts, a lovely bridge whose length across the river was used occasionally for showing all manner of sculpture, prints, and drawings. A bridge with benches overlooking the water, and Harry loved the idea of sitting on a bench with Ruth here in Paris. He thought benches were marvellous inventions. Something about the privacy of the restrained space within the public thoroughfare.
It was only a five-minute walk from the cafe to the bridge, and then another ten minutes back to the hotel. There was an exhibit on the Passerelle today, and it happened that they were a lovely set of photographs of couples in film: Bogart and Bacall, Montand and Signoret, Gable and Lombard. Harry and Ruth strolled hand-in-hand, and found a bench that was free in the middle of the bridge. Much of the bench was wasted, as they sat very, very close.
They looked out at the water in silence for a time, and when Harry looked at Ruth, he was surprised to see one small tear make its way slowly down her cheek. He resisted the impulse to kiss it, or wipe it away, or bring any attention to it at all. Instead he watched it, the light from the sun low in the sky reflected in a windowed rectangle on its surface. It got smaller and smaller as it left a trail of moisture on her skin, until finally, it threatened to disappear altogether, and only then did he allow himself to kiss the spot where it lay.
She turned with a smile, saying, "You know I'm happy, not sad?"
Now he kissed her lips, slowly, tenderly. "Yes."
She smiled, looking back out at the water. "Don't you think it's interesting, Harry, that after all our secrets, you proposed to me in a public place, and in front of others? It was perfect, really. I wouldn't have wanted it to be any other way." Now she turned back to him, her eyes moist and gentle on his, "It was beautiful, and simple, and very much us."
The wonder in his voice was still evident, "You said yes."
Ruth laughed, but tears weren't far away. "Yes. I said yes."
Now he kissed her, enfolding her in his arms, a deep kiss in the middle of a bridge full of people. And those walking by saw the couple and knew they were very much in love. Not one of those passing by would have been surprised to learn the question that had been asked and answered just this afternoon. This looked to be a kiss to begin a lifetime together.
They walked back to the hotel with three hours left, and neither could push time far from their minds. It was different, though, because Harry would be back so soon. Today was Sunday, and he would be at Ruth's doorstep on Thursday. From there they would travel by car to Le Bourget, the small airport where they would board a private plane to Polis, Cyprus.
And then they would have four nights together, split between Cyprus and Baghdad. All that time with Harry, and essentially Ruth would be working again for MI5. After the peace and routine of her life recently, it made Ruth's head spin somewhat, as if she had stood up too suddenly and felt faint.
As they went up in the lift to his room this time, Ruth looked at Harry beside her, and she loved him with all of her being. She studied him unabashedly, the light furrows of his forehead, the softness of his hair just slightly over his ears, the curls at the back of his neck, the fullness of his lips, the corners of his eyes where the skin crinkled as he smiled at her, and then, as he wondered what she was thinking, the two vertical lines that formed just to the inside of his eyebrows, their blonde and brown hairs almost invisible above the deep brown of his eyes.
She reached out and put her palm on the side of his face, the face she had watched him shave this morning, the skin soft, with just the trace of whisker. She moved across his chin, strong and round, and trailed down his throat, above the unbuttoned collar, to touch the space where she could rest her finger and feel his heartbeat. She felt grateful to that heart, that it continued to work as it should, to keep alive this precious man, whose skin was so warm from the blood that flowed through it, and whose eyes looked at her with such tenderness.
She saw his lips begin to move to form a word, pressing together and then apart, the word what?, the question he was asking about the look on her face. No doubt the seriousness of her eyes was beginning to concern him. Ruth put a finger to his lips to quiet him, and she felt his warm breath on her skin. She was studying him the way a sculptor would, memorising his contours and angles so that she could find them again in her mind when he was no longer with her.
She was having the same feeling she'd had in Bath, before things had gone so terribly wrong. The feeling that she would lose him somehow, that she was still on that circling carousel, and he would blur and move out of her reach, that this moment now was all she had to burn his face into the space behind her eyes, so she could remember.
Ruth replaced her finger with her lips and kissed him, feeling the incredible softness and warmth there, the way his lips yielded to the pressure she placed on them. His response was to put his arms around her, and now there was the feel of his chest against her breasts, his fingers threading gently through her hair. He parted his lips slightly, giving her the heady taste of champagne, and she responded with a soft sigh that rose above the distant sound of the lift.
Ruth pulled away, her lips still just touching his, her eyes still closed, and said, "I love you, Harry." He pulled her closer to him, speaking with his lips against her cheek, and she could feel the emotion in his chest, the trembling in his voice. "I love you, Ruth."
Of all their moments together, this was one that Ruth would remember on the coldest of her nights alone. When he was far away and it seemed there was no more hope, when she thought she had lost him forever, when she did what he begged her to do and moved on, when she started a new life. In the desperate, desolate moments of that new life, she remembered this minute in the lift of the Hotel Britannique in Paris, on the day he had asked her to marry him and she had said yes.
In this moment, they loved each other so fully that they couldn't imagine anything else existed. But the world is a dangerous place, and Harry's world more dangerous even than most. There was only one reason he would ever give up his Ruth, and that would be to save her.
They still had time together, many days and weeks and months, but the carousel was turning, inexorably, relentlessly toward a future that neither of them could prevent.
For now, Ruth again pushed down the dread. She followed him into his room, the one they had quickly moved into before leaving for lunch. Before the door had clicked closed, they were in each other's arms. They had a little under three hours, and they would spend every second of it wrapped together.
They made love tenderly at first and then hungrily, and after, they lay talking, planning their future, redecorating Harry's house, and deciding where her things would go. They talked of white dresses, rings, and poetry readings, of the pros and cons of a Grand Tour honeymoon, or the one with the thatched hut and the beard. They laughed, and they loved each other well.
Tom and Christine watched them kiss goodbye on the rainy pavement outside Ruth's flat on the Rue de Banquier. When the green door closed finally, and Harry got back in the car, Tom leant forward and placed a consoling hand on his friend's shoulder.
Harry shrugged, and said, "Only four days this time." Harry was making a good show of it, but Tom could see the shine of tears in his eyes.
~~~~~
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Anassa Hotel looked over one of the loveliest beaches in Cyprus. Off in the distance, across Chrysochous Bay, was the Akamas Peninsula, a nature conservation area, wild and undeveloped. The Akamas walking trails led to a waterfall and a pool beneath it called the Bath of Aphrodite, where myth described the goddess of love taking her own holidays when the toil of bringing lovers together became too strenuous.
Ruth knew this mythology by heart, and she gazed across the magnificent vista imagining Aphrodite rising from the water, rested and relaxed, ready to face another round of star-crossed lovers. Ruth held Harry's hands at her waist as he stood behind her, his chin light on her shoulder.
She didn't know how long they had been standing there watching the ripples of the water in the distance and feeling the warm breeze of emerging summer, but she was still trying to think of the names of all the colours of blue they were seeing, so they were playing a game. Harry whispered softly in her ear, and Ruth answered him. Azure. Indigo. Navy. Cornflower. Aquamarine. Teal. Royal. Cerulean. Sapphire. Steel. Electric ...
Ruth paused, smiling, her mind working, "Erm ... oh, wait ... I know there have to be more ..."
Harry laughed softly, still whispering, "Have I stumped the analyst? Can it be ...?"
Suddenly she inhaled and said, "Periwinkle!"
"Ah, in the nick of time ..." He thought, too. "Ultramarine?"
"No, you said aquamarine already. Marine is marine. Cheating, Harry."
"Wait ...erm ... powder!"
She turned and looked at him, laughing. "Powder blue, Harry? A big, strong man like you? What would they think on the Grid?" Harry pulled her to him and held her tight, both of them laughing.
"You tell a soul, and I'll tell them you talk in your sleep."
Ruth pulled away quickly. She was trying to be serious, but she wasn't entirely successful. "I don't. What do I talk about?"
Harry suddenly looked very grave, putting on his best Section Head face. He shook his head, "Tut, tut. Sordid stuff, can't repeat it." He buried his face in her neck as she began to laugh again.
"Now you have to tell me. The truth, Harry. Do I?"
He raised his head and kissed her lightly on the lips. "No, my love, not a word. Just teasing, in my desperation over the possibility of you switching the red for powder blue in my office."
"Harry. Who knew you were so mad? All these years, serious Harry Pearce. I could count on one hand how many times I heard you laugh, and now, cripes, I can't stop you." She took his hand and led him to the table as she sat down.
Harry said, "Your fault entirely. You've made me happy." He sat down, too, across from her.
Ruth took a kalamata olive and popped it in her mouth, chasing it with a cucumber slice. She looked at him with soft eyes, "Well, as I've no intention of making you unhappy, I suppose I'll have to put up with it." She raised another olive and he nodded. She put it in his mouth. "I love you , Harry. Have I said that today?"
He hadn't entirely finished the olive, so his words came out a bit muffled, "Not excessively. No more than ... mmm ... twenty times. Not too many times certainly. I could do with another."
"I love you."
"I love you, too, my Ruth."
She broke away from his gaze and looked back out at the water. "This doesn't feel like work. For one, the view is better."
"The minute you're back on the Grid, I'll put up a mural for you. This very scene, right where you can see it."
Ruth looked back at him, smiling. "I love the way you say that, 'when you're back on the Grid,' as if it's a given."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "It is. I see you there." He looked at her sideways, "And I think you're wearing ... ah, blue. Cambridge blue."
Ruth laughed, "Aha! Good one. Cobalt blue. I was saving that for an emergency."
Harry looked around again, thinking, and then, clearly desperate, picked up a chunk from the appetiser tray. "Bleu cheese."
Throwing a cucumber slice at him, Ruth laughed, "Cheating. Again! I'm learning more and more about you." She narrowed her eyes, and forced herself to look stern. "I'm not sure marrying you is such a good idea. You're devious, and you've been known to cheat at games."
Harry leant back, smiling. "Well, you won't be interested in what I have to give you, then. Shame." Harry looked out at the sea.
"What?" When he ignored her and shook his head, Ruth stood up and walked around behind him. She leant down and blew softly just behind his ear. "What, Harry?" Her voice was low, seductive, and her mouth was grazing his ear lobe.
"Now who's cheating?" He said softly, closing his eyes.
"What do you have for me?" she asked, as she began to move down his neck with kisses.
"Mmmmm, you're good, Ruth. I'd forgotten about your talent for interrogation." He turned and stood up, bringing her with him. Kissing her lightly on the lips, he said, "Wait here."
While she waited, she poured another glass of chardonnay for the two of them, and took the two glasses over to a wicker loveseat with brightly flowered cushions, facing out to the sea. A private terrace overlooking the Mediterranean. She didn't even want to think what it cost.
Harry assured her this was a personal expense, and that the Services would begin paying in Baghdad. They would have separate rooms in the hotel there, but here, they were free to do what they wished. Free. How inadequate that word seemed.
From the moment they had stepped off the plane at Paphos Airport she'd felt like she was on holiday. They'd gained an hour flying after leaving early in the morning, so the whole afternoon was laid out in front of them. A lovely day with Harry in Paradise. That thatched hut honeymoon was looking better and better.
A lunch of Cypriot meze, the traditional revolving buffet, small savoury hot and cold dishes, vegetables and meats that kept appearing on the table until the sated patrons implored them to stop. Eggplant salad, hummus, fresh fish, cheese, all topped off with Cypriot coffee, a strong, muddy liquid with grounds still in the bottom, rich and full-bodied as the meal.
By the time they finished, Harry and Ruth wanted nothing more than a nap, so they fell on the bed into each other's arms and went fast asleep, the sheer curtains billowing almost over their heads in the warm breeze off the sea. Another world, and pure happiness. And now, waiting for Harry, Ruth smiled and closed her eyes against the setting sun.
Her eyes were still closed when he returned to the terrace holding a small box. He put his arms around her and dropped the box lightly into her hand. She opened her eyes and looked at it, and then tilted her head up toward him. "I might have an idea what this is, Harry. Would I be right?"
He moved around and sat next to her on the loveseat. "You might be right, but you might not know what makes it very special."
She opened the box, and yes, as she suspected, it was a ring. Not gold, but silver. Almost filigree, she thought, with an exquisitely delicate openwork pattern that seemed arbitrary until she looked more closely. Then, with a sharp breath, she realised what it was. Numerous charms, H's and R's, were joined together almost invisibly in random patterns between the two thin bands that set the width of the ring. Tiny charms, the same ones she wore on her necklace.
She looked at him, her mouth open, as he enjoyed her reaction. He took the ring out of the box and placed it gently on her third finger, left hand. "It's not a proper engagement ring, it's a promise ring of sorts. I want you to be able to wear it, and not have to hide it away somewhere. There will be a diamond waiting for you in England when you come home to me." He kissed the ring on her finger, which fit perfectly.
Ruth looked at it, her eyes glistening. Then she looked at Harry, "How? You went to Bath? When?"
"I had the idea weeks ago, and called it in to the jeweller. But I didn't have your size, and not being good at that sort of thing, I had to wait until I saw you for him to finish it."
"But you never asked me my size, Harry. How did you know?"
"I slipped a piece of paper round your finger while you slept in Paris, and then called him with the measurement. He finished it, and sent it overnight." Harry looked very proud of himself, smiling at her like the Cheshire Cat.
Ruth looked at him, marvelling. "Harry, will our life together always be this surprising? I'm in a constant state of wonder with you lately."
Harry shook his head solemnly. "Definitely not. I can't possibly keep this up." He kissed her tenderly on the lips. "I'm expecting to become predictable at any moment."
She put her arms around him and pulled him close. "It's lovely. It's perfect." Pulling away, she looked at him. The setting sun had turned the sky gold, and the colour was reflected on his face. His skin had a burnished tone, his brown eyes turning amber. She looked down at the ring, and held it up in the fading sunlight.
"I'm glad you like it, my Ruth. Silver for now, gold for later," Harry said softly.
She smiled at him. "I'm not sure you'll ever convince me to take this one off. I can't tell you how much it means to me." As the angled light touched it, the open spaces of the ring took on new shapes, a complex weave of dark and light. "Just two letters, H and R, to make all those patterns. Complicated patterns."
Harry smiled ruefully. "We're complicated people." He sighed. "At least we seem to lead complicated lives."
Ruth looked out at the view and then looked back at Harry. "Life doesn't feel very complicated today, Harry. It feels blissfully simple." She brushed her lips lightly across his. "Tell the jeweller, will you, how much I love it?"
"You'll tell him yourself, soon, Ruth. We'll go there first thing after we get you home." He played with a lock of her hair, and raised his eyebrows. "Maybe we should be married in Bath? We never talked about where, did we?"
Ruth turned to look out at the ocean, leaning into him. "How about here? Can we get married here?"
Harry looked at her, his face serious. "Now? Today?"
She turned quickly and looked at him to see if he meant it, and she could see, absolutely, that he did. She tilted her head, imagining a wedding here, and then she sighed. Putting her hand on his cheek, she said, "You don't know how close I was just then to saying yes." Ruth shook her head slightly. "No, I want people around us. I want a party, Harry. A big, crazy, happy celebration. In England."
"That's what we'll have, then." The sun was now only half a circle where it met the sea on the horizon, and it was sinking quickly. Ruth curled her feet up under her and leant her head on his chest as he put his arm around her. They watched it as best they could, squinting against its brilliance, amazed that they could actually see it get smaller.
Ruth spoke softly, as if she were in a church. "Don't you find it incredible, Harry, seeing the sun disappear like that? But it's not moving, we are. We're on this big, turning thing. Turning away from it. When you look at it like this, you can see the Earth move, feel it rotating in space. It makes me feel so small."
He tightened his arm around her, still keeping his eyes on the horizon. "It always makes me feel like I'm starting fresh. That no matter what happened on this day, everything begins again tomorrow."
Now it was just a tiny sliver over the water, shimmering, and the sky was darkening. Ruth sat up and turned to look at him, a tiny furrow in her brow. "And what about tomorrow, Harry? What does happen tomorrow, in Baghdad?"
Harry took a deep breath. "I managed to get intel on the MI6 chap, name is Ronnie, before I left London. I'll meet with him first, let him know we're on to him, and hopefully, make a deal. Then, I find out where McCall is, and where he's meeting Mani. There are only so many hotels in Baghdad, and from what I have on Ronnie, he should give the rest up quickly." He leant forward to get his wine from the glass table in front of them, and took a sip.
"And where will I be?"
"In the hotel room, my love, at your computer. You'll be my eyes and ears on the world. And if all goes well, at some point I'll be asking you to meet us for dinner. The more I think about it, the more sense it makes to just sit down, order a drink, and have a chat. From Christine's description, Libby's a reasonable man, although we can't trust him. Don't know about this Mani bloke, but I do have some talents in the area of persuasion."
Ruth laughed. "I can attest to that." She looked up at him. "Harry. Speaking of dinner ..."
He laughed, and kissed her forehead. "I know. You're hungry."
~~~~~
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The next afternoon, they walked through the ornate lobby of the Al-Rasheed Hotel. Ruth had never been to Baghdad, and although men in uniform with guns everywhere were a bit daunting, she saw that some of the men were the Greys of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards, giving just a small piece of home. And Harry clearly knew what he was doing and where he was going.
Although he exercised the appropriate amount of caution, Harry moved through Baghdad with the same authority he exuded on the Grid. At one point, he whispered to her, "Act like you belong, and no one will question you." Ruth followed his lead, and realised Harry was right. They showed their papers, and were passed through.
In the lobby of the hotel, Ruth looked at the massive glass chandeliers, the marble walls, and the intricate, brightly patterned carpets over the marble tiled floors, and she thought about the strength of the human spirit. She knew how many times this lobby had been rebuilt, because she had read about it. As Harry checked them in, she thought of the people of Baghdad and what they had been forced to endure. And with the memory fresh in her mind of a tranquil beach in Polis with Harry, she wondered how she could ever despair of the life she was privileged to lead.
Yes, she was in exile. Yes, she had been forced to go for periods of time without the man she loved. But she had a roof, and friends, and relative safety, and the man she loved was here with her now. Ruth said a silent thank you, looking upward at the myriad reflections from the glass pendants on the chandelier. Then she felt Harry's hand on her shoulder, and turned. He smiled at her, and it didn't matter where they were, London, Paris, Polis or Baghdad, that same warm, electric feeling moved through her.
Their first day in Baghdad was one of preparation, knowledge-gathering and making contact with Ronnie, McCall and Mani. Ruth was busy all day, feeding Harry information and then discussing options with him. Harry listened to her, appreciating her grasp of the situation, asking questions and working through her answers, and Ruth saw again what made him such a good leader. When decisions were necessary, he made them, but first he listened. They worked together as colleagues, but with the deep core of their love underneath. At midday, as he was rushing out the door once again, he kissed her and said, "I couldn't be doing this without you, Ruth. Your mind is invaluable to me. And you calm me."
The Hotel Al-Rasheed was safe, so Harry did his business there. The first night, he and Ronnie had an early dinner in the hotel restaurant, and from there things moved quickly. They left each other with a plan that the next day, Harry would meet with McCall and Mani as well.
And after wanting to "sneak about" at Havensworth, Harry finally got his wish. Although they had decided on Cyprus that their two nights in Baghdad would be chaste, they lost their resolve during a goodnight kiss just inside the door of Ruth's room.
It had started innocently enough. After Harry's early light dinner with Ronnie, he had come back up and picked through a second dinner with Ruth in her room. They talked about the day, strategised tomorrow, and managed to keep their hands off each other until Harry stood at her door saying goodnight. Suddenly, Ruth thought, he turned into a bloody teenager.
Not just a kiss, but a kiss with hands roaming, tucking between the buttons of her blouse while her mind was elsewhere. "Harry! Stop it," she said, laughing, "What's got into you?"
His lips were on her necklace, and moving up toward her ear, "Mmmmmm, maybe I could stay for just a minute. Just one, Ruth." As he kissed her, his fingertips were trailing softly across the back of her neck.
She was starting to lose her sense of right and wrong with the delicious feelings that were moving down her spine. "I thought you said ... that we ... shouldn't? Isn't that what you said?"
"One minute. What could one minute hurt?" Now Ruth's hands had made their way under his untucked shirt and were tracing tiny circles on his back, and Harry was moving her away from the door.
"You know what this is, don't you?" Ruth was whispering in his ear as he walked her toward the bed. "It's because we can't." She brushed her lips across his cheek. "It's forbidden."
Harry laughed softly, "At this point, I'd like to see someone try to forbid me." He sat her on the bed and lifted her blouse over her head, laying her back on the thick cover. "Ah, Christ," he said softly, kissing down her neck and between her breasts, "it's the one with the lace." He pulled away and looked at the delicate bra she was wearing. His voice was low.
"And what colour blue is this, my Ruth?"
"Mmmmm ... Midnight."
So much for their decision to be chaste. Harry woke to his alarm and simply went to his room to get his things. He brought them back to Ruth's room, and they had breakfast together, laughing about good intentions.
Contact was made early with McCall and Mani in meetings that were set up by Ronnie, and Harry had been right. Once they all knew that MI5 was on to them, they were anxious to save their skins and cut a deal. From the hotel room, with a laptop and two mobiles, Ruth acted as liaison with Harry and the small team that would handle the transport back to Norfolk.
To seal the deal, a dinner was arranged at McCall's hotel. Harry wanted Ruth to join them for dinner, as a witness to the proceedings, but also because he valued her judgment. At first they thought it might be too dangerous to have her seen, especially by an MI6 officer. But Harry determined that everyone at that table had something to hide, and they were more worried about their own futures than about a woman named Sophie, sitting at the table virtually in silence. Everyone assumed that she was some sort of clerical assistant. When Harry needed documents, she pulled them out of a worn, brown leather briefcase and handed them to him without a word.
Afterwards, back in her hotel room, Harry asked Ruth her impressions of the three men. "Start with Ronnie," he said, as he kicked off his shoes and leant back on the pillows on the bed.
"Slimy sort. 'Course they all were, really, but I got the feeling he was just waiting to find out who would win amongst you, so he could move over to that side." She laid down on the bed next to him, her head propped on her arm. "Which he did immediately toward the end of the meeting, after you won, brilliantly, Harry." She ran her fingers lightly across his forearm. "I do love to watch you work."
His voice was soft, "I would never have known it. You're very good, you know. Sophie was completely detached. Professional. No one at that table could guess that just last night you were educating me on the finer points of expensive lingerie."
As her eyes sparkled, he smiled and wondered again, as he had so many times, if there would ever be a time that he would take these moments with Ruth for granted. He didn't think so. Touching her face, he was of a mind to stop talking and just kiss her, for hours perhaps. But he forced himself to focus. "So, about Ronnie, anything else?"
"Only that I think he lacks passion for much more than the money he stands to earn from the deal. If he said the word 'retirement' one more time, I thought I'd stuff a roll in his mouth." She twined her fingers in Harry's. "At least if someone is a zealot, they stand for something. I don't think any of these men stand for anything other than themselves. Quite an unsavoury group, Harry. Rather depressing, actually."
Harry chuckled. "As always, you get right to the heart of the matter. All these people willing to unleash nuclear bombs on the world in exchange for money. Where do they think they'll spend it, I wonder, when those bombs go off?" He adjusted the pillows behind him so he could look at her. "Continue, my magnificent analyst. What about McCall?"
Ruth pulled a face. "God, horrible man." She looked up at Harry, frowning, "Doesn't he put you in mind of a pug dog, Harry? Like his face was pushed in by something? And he has a habit of licking his lips in the most revolting way." She almost shivered as she described it.
Harry laughed, "That's an astute physical description, but I was actually looking more for an analysis of his motives, Ruth."
"Well, he's a bit of a wriggler, isn't he? Sided with you in the end, just like Ronnie, once he realised there was no hope for the original deal. But Christine was right, Harry. You can't trust him past where you can see him. Not any of them, really."
Harry stood up to pour a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. He offered one to Ruth, and she sat up to take it. Harry came back over with another and sat next to her on the bed. "And Amish Mani?" The other two were stereotype thugs. This was the assessment Harry really wanted to hear.
Ruth took a sip of her water, and then a deep breath. "Oh, he does make an impression, doesn't he?"
Harry didn't want to lead her at all, so he simply nodded, and said, "Mmmmm."
Ruth said, "I sat down next to you, and he immediately came round to sit on the other side of me. Elegant, refined, very expensive suit, and everyone else without ties. Expensive aftershave, although I can't stand the stuff. I was on the verge of a sneeze all night, just smelling him."
Harry tilted his head at her, laughing, "God, I've missed you in briefings, Ruth. You bring a whole new element to analysis. All the senses."
"So he's the one who stole the uranium in the first place, yes?"
"Yes."
Her frown firmly in place, Ruth continued. "I suppose what I felt most from him is that he wants to make his mark on the world. And while he's doing it, he expects to get paid. That is a man who loves money and what it can buy."
As she told Harry, Ruth 's main impression of Amish Mani was that he was a paradox. Soft spoken, but she suspected, lethal. Well-dressed, but with a vulgar mind. More than once he had leant into her, touching her arm in a way that made her skin crawl. And he had asked, "So, you and Harry, you are ...?" and in his oily voice she heard a crude inference, almost as if he had told her a filthy joke and was waiting for her to laugh.
"Colleagues," she had answered coldly. She had kept herself to one-word answers whenever possible, but that seemed only to intrigue Mani, make him want more. He missed most of the conversation at the table because his focus was entirely on her, the only woman there.
"And now I realise that by focusing on me, he really was focusing on you, Harry, because you were the one he felt had the power in the negotiation. And although you gave me a nice compliment earlier about how detached I was, I got the feeling from Mani that ... that, somehow ... "
"That he knew? About us?"
"Yes. It was as if he were looking through my clothes, Harry. And that he could see somehow how much we meant to each other." She shook her head. "But that's not possible, so it must be my imagination."
Harry narrowed his eyes at her, "No, Ruth, you don't imagine much. If you're feeling it, then we should keep an eye on that one. He does seem ambitious." He pulled her toward him, kissing the top of her head. "Thank you, my love, for being here with me. You can't know what it's meant."
Ruth looked up at him and brushed her lips lightly across his. "You shouldn't have to do everything alone, Harry. And I think we're a good partnership," she pulled herself closer to him, until their bodies melded almost into one, "in every way."
Harry smiled and spoke softly in her ear. "I take it we're losing our resolve again? That you won't be pushing me out to that cold, dark room next door?"
She looked up at him and smiled, "Oh, poor Harry. No, I'm keeping you here with me tonight. I may just hold you all night long to keep you warm."
In fact, they undressed and snuggled under the covers right then. It was late, and it had been a long day. And although they intended to make love, they slipped effortlessly into sleep without knowing it, in one of the most dangerous cities in the world, but safe in each other's arms.
In the end, Harry managed, brilliantly, to achieve an agreement that he would "safeguard" the uranium until a later date. The next morning, very early, McCall and Harry met again as the uranium was physically taken from its hiding place and sent off to Norfolk. Ruth stayed in the hotel room until Harry returned, and then they flew back to Cyprus for the night.
And although she had been excited about working for MI5 again, Ruth couldn't wait to leave Baghdad. The feeling of dread had returned, and later, much later, she would know that this was another of those defining moments.
She could queue them up, one by one, forming the straight line of her story with Harry. And every moment had ripples that continued far into the distance, past where she could see.
"This is a place you could get lost, Harry. It feels like we're the only ones on the entire island."
"Yes, well, wait 'till high season." They'd managed to get the same room, with the same terrace, precisely because it wasn't the high season.
Ruth was lying on the loveseat, her head on Harry's lap. Her legs dangled over the armrest, cushioned by one of the brightly-coloured pillows. She toyed aimlessly with the buttons on his shirt as she talked, but most of the time, she was simply looking out at the sea, watching the diamonds of sunlight playing on the surface.
Harry was reading, or trying to. He was re-reading "War as I Knew It," by General George S. Patton, a favourite. "Listen to this, Ruth. 'Never tell people how to do things. Tell them what to do, and they will surprise you with their ingenuity.'" He put the book down beside him, and took her hand. "Ingenuity. That word reminds me of you, my love." He laughed, "Spook taxis. Good God. Whoever would have thought of that but you."
She looked up at him as he peered down at her. "It was perfectly logical, Harry. Not even a stretch of the mind. Can't believe no one had thought of it before that." She was getting a little dizzy looking up at him, so she turned and sat up. "He was a brilliant man, Patton. And entirely aside from your reading that book, you've reminded me of him."
"What, my colourful language?" Harry asked.
Ruth laughed. "Well, yes, you do have a way with words, but not just that." She reached her hand up and touched his face. "You inspire people to be more than they are, Harry."
The compliment so surprised him that he had to take a breath, and a slight flush came to his cheeks, which caused him to look down at the book again.
Ruth smiled gently at him, bending down a bit to catch his eyes. "Harry? I embarrassed you. Why? Is that so hard to hear?"
He still couldn't look at her. "Not certain, actually." He looked out at the sea, shaking his head slightly. "I suppose I'm generally not good at taking compliments. But that touched me somehow … being an inspiration … It's what I … want. And I feel inadequate to the task most of the time."
Her hand had moved to the back of his neck, and she played with the short, blond curls there. "Well, hear this, Harry. You do inspire. Not because you mean to, but by example."
By example. An inspiration. Harry's mind went suddenly to Graham and Catherine. What would they say, listening to this conversation? And as he thought of them, he knew he had to ask Ruth the question that had been in the back of his mind since the first day he had committed himself to her.
Harry was silent for a moment, and Ruth sensed he was formulating a question for her, so she stayed still. But he sat even longer, his eyes darting out at the sea, and it became clear he was having trouble finding the words to say what he wanted.
"Harry? What is it?"
"Erm … I was wondering … "
Harry? Tongue-tied? Ruth tried to imagine what it could possibly be. "Yes?"
"What you thought about … children."
Ah. So that was it. And since Ruth didn't know exactly what he was asking, she needed him to get more specific. "In general, or having them?"
"Having them." Finally having said it, Harry could relax a bit. The subject was opened. He exhaled, and turned to look at her.
His eyes were so exposed, so vulnerable, that Ruth's breath almost caught. The way his eyebrows angled up in the centre when he was asking for answers he wasn't sure he wanted to hear. But she thought how much courage it took for him to ask it, and she couldn't stop herself from moving forward to kiss the angle of his brow, and then his lips, tenderly, to ease him.
"I don't think I want them, Harry. If you do, I would consider it, but if you don't, we're of a mind."
Now he visibly relaxed, and his arm went round her. "I just thought, you're young, and I've had mine, and that didn't turn out so well, did it? But I didn't want to keep you from it … "
She smiled up at him, and to quiet him, kissed him again. "Harry, don't. It's okay." Taking his hands, she turned on the seat to face him completely. "I got to know Fiona very well, you know. We had lunches together, when she was on the Grid. We talked a lot about Wes."
Harry's face took on the sad look he always seemed to wear when Wes' name came up. "Ah, Wes. I told you in a letter, I think, about him running away? Had us all torn in two directions."
Ruth nodded. "Yes, exactly, Harry. It's what Fiona talked about. It's what I know I would feel." She turned and looked out toward the sea, pressing herself against his shoulder. "Fiona used to say that it was selfish of them to have had a child. He was forever looking for her, wondering where she was. Wes never even knew her real name. None of us did."
Harry exhaled softly, and Ruth turned, and smiled at him. "Well, maybe you did." Looking back at the water, she continued, "I couldn't do that, Harry. It wouldn't be good for a child, and I'm not ready to stop the work. So that tells me that right now, it's not important enough to me."
Harry stroked her hair lightly. "I always thought it was something women had to do. It's not something I think I would have done if Jane hadn't wanted it so much." He sighed. "And now neither of them really speak to me. Catherine, somewhat. But not the way I'd wish it."
Ruth smiled. "She's just stubborn, Harry." She looked up at him, raising her eyebrows.
"Subtle, my love. Yes, just like me." He paused for a moment, and then, "There is something to be said for having a little piece of you roaming the Earth." More softly, he said, "You don't need that, Ruth?"
Smiling, Ruth said, "Oh, Harry, I would love to see what we would make together. A bossy little analyser, stubborn as a mule, with a wicked sense of humour. Your eyes, my mind, and a great capacity for love. A proper little spook." They both laughed, and Ruth continued, "But we wouldn't be there. There would be a nanny, and we'd kiss little Henry goodbye in the morning, and then kiss him hello after he'd gone to sleep at night. What sort of life is that for a child? Or for us?"
Harry held her tightly. He'd started this conversation afraid that she would say she did want a child, and now Harry wanted badly to see little Henry. To see what they would create together out of the most profound love he'd ever known. But he also knew Ruth was right in everything she'd said.
After a minute of silence, Ruth said, "I remember one morning I had to stop at the library or something, across from a school. I was waiting for the bus to come, and I watched a woman see her son off. He must have been five or six, and he wanted to go on himself, without her, so she stood at the corner and watched him walk the last bit to the school alone."
"God, Harry, the focus in that woman's eyes. There could have been an earthquake, a hurricane, anything, and she wouldn't have taken her eyes off of that little figure walking up the steps. And not just concentration, but love, and pride, and a hundred different emotions were written on her face. I was put in mind of a mother bear, some fierce animal, watching, protecting, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of danger."
"I found my eyes beginning to blur, Harry, and it was tears. It touched something deep inside me." She turned and looked at Harry. "That's what a mother needs to be, and I know I'm not ready to be that. I might wish I could be, but I'm not."
He touched her face, gently. "And you can give it up?"
"Yes, Harry. And you need to hear that I'm giving it up for me, not for you." Ruth smiled, genuinely. "I may be too fussy to be a good mother anyway. I think I'd expect too much. A recitation of Homer a few moments out of the womb, perhaps." At Harry's soft laugh, she said, "Although I suspect you'd be a wonderful father, this time round."
"Don't know about that." Harry's eyes clouded over. "I do know I've seen far too many crying mothers and fathers over children missing or dead. Too many bomb blasts, too much sadness. I think I might worry too much."
Ruth leant over and kissed him lightly on the lips, and then she put her arms around him. They both seemed to need comfort somehow, as if a door had shut suddenly, even though they knew they were the ones who had closed it, mindfully. And both knew, instinctively, that there was another reason, too. They had been denied each other for so long that they weren't ready to share. Even with another little piece of themselves.
It was getting dark now, and there was just a hint of the early Spring cool off of the sea. They gathered up their things and moved indoors, feeling every bit the couple on the last night of their holidays. Tomorrow they would go home. To their separate homes. Ruth back the bookshop, and Harry back to the Grid.
Again, Ruth could hear the music of the carousel starting up. Four days together hadn't eased her need for him, on the contrary, she felt she wanted him more. She would always be greedy for him, and now, with no set date of seeing him again, she held him just a little bit closer to her under the soft covers of the hotel bed.
"Ruth."
She pulled away and looked at him, and he used his thumb to brush away the tear that had made its way down her cheek. He knew what she was thinking, because he was thinking it too. When? When will this all be over?
Harry couldn't remember who said it, but he thought it might be Einstein. "God doesn't play dice with the Universe." Well, with all respect to the brilliant man, Harry thought he was wrong in this case.
Harry tried to sound optimistic when he talked to Ruth about her return to England, but when? He couldn't give her an answer. He simply didn't know.
~~~~~
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