CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
A few moments later, Harry joined Malcolm and Connie in the Chapter Room. As they walked down the corridor toward the bar, Malcolm had a bit of a delayed reaction about Special Branch invading the Grid. "They made me give up my passcodes. I'm really cheesed off. You know, my aunt used to say, 'Love your enemies, in case your friends turn out to be bastards.'"
Harry had long ago given up expecting the Services to be entirely fair. "If you want loyalty, Malcolm, buy a dog." Connie made her way to the Ladies, and Harry called back, "Connie, gin and tonic?"
"Large."
"Naturally." Harry and Malcolm went to find a table. If Harry hadn't been so preoccupied, he might have seen a man sitting alone, reading theTimes. And if he'd seen his face, he would have known him. Davey King, an ex-IRA killer with a personal grudge against Harry. Davey liked to kill multiple targets using a single explosive device, and his preferred method was to force them to go to where he'd placed the bomb, and then detonate it. If they didn't arrive as he requested, he'd kill innocent people until they did.
Connie came back to the table, her face drawn and pale. Harry asked, "Connie, what happened?"
After a very frightening encounter with Davey in the corridor, Connie was charged to give a message to Harry. "Davey King. Just said to tell you he's back for you. For all of us." Harry knew what that meant. He'd gotten a Christmas card every year from Davey, addressed to Thames House, signed with a smiley face and Season's Greetings, Harry. It had always been a threat, and it seemed now that Davey was ready to make good on it. Connie, still shaken, left Harry and Malcolm to go it alone.
Harry's only option was to find a place, apart from the Grid, where his team could regroup and form a plan. And the only place that fit that description was his own safe house, where he and Ruth had spent their last night in England together. So again, as he called Adam, he used the words "Sunstrike Protocol," but this time for a very different reason. "There's a place you know. It belongs to me. Be there as soon as you can."
Harry and Malcolm arrived at the safe house first, and as they walked through the door, Malcolm set about making an inventory of the equipment they could use. Harry, in turn, set about wandering, trying to stay focused. He knew he had to develop a plan, but first, he had to process some of the memories that overtook him.
He couldn't keep his eyes from drifting to the bed, just to the right of the door in the main room. The sheets that Ruth had draped over the shelves were still piled in a heap there, and the candles she had set out were reduced to stubs, drip castle sculptures lined up on the sill right where he had left them.
He had tidied a bit when he came in and found the mouldy Chinese food, but it still looked to him like the room in which they had made love and talked the night through. Where they had cried together, made promises to each other, where he had watched the candlelight play across her bare skin. Harry breathed deeply into the feelings that suddenly rushed into the room. How far we've come since that night. Although he never could have imagined it, he loved her even more today than he had then.
Harry glanced at Malcolm to see if any of this was obvious, but it was clear it wasn't. Malcolm was rummaging around on the shelves, muttering to himself. For a moment, Harry needed to collect his emotions, and try again to blend his two selves. The memory of the Harry that was vulnerable, intimately entwined with his Ruth, lay on the bed to his right. Malcolm, now at what had been their dinner table, required the mind of Harry Pearce, head of MI5, the man who would help to get them out of a very dangerous situation. The two diametrically different scenes intruded on each other, with Harry standing, surreally, directly in the middle.
He chose the only side he could, the one that needed him right now. Although he would have preferred to sit on the bed and allow the warm memories of that night to drift through his thoughts, he walked over to Malcolm, who was just finishing his inventory," ... half a pack of mummified cigarettes, oh, a cassette tape of Led Zeppelin's untitled fourth album." He held up the tape.
Harry took it from him. "Been looking for that."
One by one, the team collected at the safe house, until the entire group was together: Harry, Adam, Connie, Malcolm, Jo and Ben. Now they knew where and when. Gabriel Plaza. There was a car bomb planted in a taxi, due to detonate at six o'clock. Davey would send them after the bomb and try to kill them with it. Harry had very painful memories that reminded him Davey wasn't bluffing.
They had no choice but to go where he wanted them, and to stand near the car with the bomb in it - to be "rounded up like livestock," as Connie so quaintly put it. They had a plan, but it was very dangerous, and especially so for Harry. There were a number of ways that things could go wrong, more than he would care to admit. At about five o'clock, Harry said, "I suggest we make our peace with our various gods, and go."
They all sat in silence for a moment, and Harry closed his eyes. He had faced death many times, but this was different. Harry wasn't alone in his life anymore. He didn't need to make peace with a god, he needed to make peace with Ruth, with the promise he had made to her. Her face came into view. "Don't get shot." He had smiled at her on the dock that morning, and said glibly, "I won't." But today, despite what he had told her, he was planning to do just that.
He would lay himself out as bait, knowing that Davey wouldn't be able to resist a clear shot. Harry would wear a vest that would protect his heart, which is where Harry believed Davey would shoot, if he hadn't changed his habits. Davey had always said that a shot to the heart was the one Harry deserved, as he had broken Davey's by killing his beloved father.
But Harry wasn't foolish enough to think Davey would do what he'd said he'd do. A shot to the head would be certain, and Harry would have no protection there. The blessing was, he supposed, if he was wrong, it would be quick. The reasoning behind the plan was that as soon as the bullet left the gun, they would see where Davey was hiding. It seemed fitting that in shooting Harry, Davey would tip his hand, and that would save the rest of the team.
They travelled in silence to Gabriel Plaza, split between Adam's and Harry's cars. Everyone had a task. Everyone, that is, but Harry, whose task would come later. He sent them on and stood alone in the car park, feeling torn. But finally, he knew he had to call Ruth. To give her his voice, his love, some kind of peace should it come to the worst. It was 5:35 p.m., and the bomb was set to detonate in twenty-five minutes. What does a man do if he has twenty-five minutes to live? He calls the woman he loves.
Harry didn't have experience with the premeditated "I'm walking into danger" call, and he wasn't quite sure what he would say to her. But he was learning to trust the way the sound of her voice prompted him to open his heart and speak from there. For just a moment he remembered the accounts he'd heard of the last mobile calls before the Twin Towers fell in New York. Husbands, wives, lovers, mothers, fathers, children, faced with just minutes in which to say a lifetime's worth of the unsaid.
Harry was immeasurably grateful for the hours he'd spent in talks with Ruth, whispered in the dark after making love, shared in the car on long drives, spoken with hands touching in restaurants. He'd already said so much to her. Everything, really. Now was simply an opportunity to say it again, perhaps for the last time. And beyond the peace he wanted to give her, Harry knew that when the moment came to step out from behind the car, to offer himself up to Davey, he had to do it without hesitation, without regret. No "if onlys." If only I had called her. If only I had said 'I love you' one more time. If only she had known.
Harry took a deep breath and pressed the button on his mobile. As he listened to it ring, he leant on the concrete wall of the car park, looking down at the black cab. What he saw beyond the cab containing the bomb were probably a hundred or more people jamming the Plaza, calmly having a bite to eat, chatting away, their children playing. The innocents.
The phone rang once more, and then she picked up. Ruth was breathless, filled with joy. "Harry, what a lovely surprise! Two calls in a day?"
"I wanted to hear your voice." He tried to keep his tone even, but in the process, produced a flat sound, a monotone.
She heard it right away, and her lightness vanished. "Harry. What's wrong?"
He took a deep breath. The inspiration of what to say had yet to hit him. "I ... I'm about to do something, Ruth."
She felt a knot begin in her throat. Her voice was wary, but calm. "What are you going to do, Harry?"
He gazed at the people below. "What I have to do. What needs to be done. But it's dangerous, and I wanted to say some things to you."
Ruth knew what this meant. Her first thought was to say, You're scaring me, Harry, but that was pointless, wasn't it? She knew his job and what it entailed, and she knew the luxury of the time he was giving her was no small thing. Harry was better at what he did than anyone, and if he was stepping into danger, it was because he had to, because there was no other choice. And Ruth knew instinctively why he was calling her. To say goodbye should things not work out as he hoped.
She was still at the shop, and she dropped quickly into the damask chair. Her whole world was contained in the voice in her ear. She was now his senior analyst, the one who kept her head, the one who didn't waste time with questions that couldn't be answered. And although her heart was pounding, and her blood rushing hotly beneath her skin, the Ruth whose future was promised to him could wait until he said what he needed to say.
"I understand." Her voice was shaking, and she felt the prick of tears at the back of her eyes, but she forced herself into a calm of sorts. "What, Harry? What do you want to say?"
Her attempt at composure washed a peace over him, and he closed his eyes. "Thank you, my Ruth. Thank you for that." He was so grateful for her lack of hysteria, for her understanding that he didn't have the energy or the inclination to argue, for her sure sense that he had already explored all the options before he would ever make a call such as this one. And he loved her very dearly for it.
She could hear Harry exhale softly, "Ruth, do you remember when I talked about the scale, the one that tips when more people are on one side than the other, no matter who those people happen to be?"
"Yes, when you had to make the choice to sacrifice Adam and Ros to save part of greater London? Yes, Harry, I remember."
"Well, I can't falter when the one that needs to be sacrificed is me." Ruth's heart tightened, but she stayed quiet as he continued. "I did something, long ago, that I'm terribly ashamed of. I gave an order that caused an innocent man to die. His son has come for revenge, and if I don't do this, others, more innocent people, will die instead of me." Harry paused, and Ruth waited. "I can't live with that, Ruth."
Her voice was so soft he almost couldn't make it out. "I know, Harry."
He went on. "And what I need to say to you is that there's a good reason for this. I've put myself in danger before without thinking about the effect it would have on anyone else, but I can't do that anymore. I don't want you to be hurt, to wonder why I would be willing to take myself away from you. It's the hardest thing in the world for me to do. Not the thought of dying, but the thought of leaving you behind."
Now the tears were coursing down her cheeks, but Ruth made an effort to speak so that Harry wouldn't know. Again she said, "I know, Harry."
"And I want you to know that I've never really been sure about where we go when we die, and I still don't know." Harry's voice broke, just the tiniest bit, and Ruth heard it. "But I will find you, my Ruth. Be sure of that. No matter where I go, I will find you."
Now she had to ask the questions, because she sensed his urgency. She was afraid he would hang up soon. "What are you going to do, Harry? How long do we have?" Ruth made an effort to keep her breathing in check. She wanted him to talk as much as he wished, as she memorised the sound of his voice.
Harry smiled weakly at the absurdity of what he was about to say. "I'm going to get shot, but I'll be wearing a vest. If he goes for anywhere but the head, I'll call you the moment I can." He paused, and spoke lower, "If he goes for the head, Ruth, I want you to know that I love you more than I ever thought was possible. And remember our talk, my love. You go on, and find peace with this. I'm doing it with my eyes open. It's my debt to pay."
Her voice was breaking now, as she gave in to the tears. Her mind refused to believe that this was a possibility. "I know there's nothing I can say to change your mind, so I won't try, but God, Harry!" She sighed loudly, giving in. "I love you. I love you so much. I'll sit here and wait for your call. How long?"
"If all goes to plan, within an hour. If not, you call Tom. He's promised that if anything ever happens to me, he'll make sure you're always safe."
Her voice was a soft cry, "Harry, I love you. I'll talk to you within the hour." He heard her gulping for breath, and she lost her resolve. She turned steely, demanding. "D-don't you dare l-leave me, Harry Pearce."
He felt himself beginning to falter, and took a deep breath. "I won't if I can help it. I love you. Know that, beyond anything else. I love you, my Ruth." He pushed the button and forced his own tears to retreat as he began to walk toward the Plaza.
I love you, my Ruth. These were the last words he spoke to her now, and it was the last thought in his mind as he stepped into the path of Davey King's bullet.
It was half past six.
Ruth hadn't moved. She still sat in the damask chair, her eyes alternating between the wall clock across from her and the mobile in her hands, which she held gently, as if it were precious and fragile, the last egg of some endangered species entrusted to her care. It was her lifeline to Harry, and she put every ounce of her strength toward making it ring.
6:34 p.m. Not yet an hour. Still within the hour. He had rung off at 5:42 p.m., so she was still well within the hour. Her tears had dried, and now she was made of iron. Her breath was shallow, as if she were hiding, not wanting to be heard. In fact, she was so frightened, she had no energy for anything else.
6:36 p.m. And still she hadn't moved. Horrible thoughts, of what if, and maybe were beginning to creep in. She pushed them away with firm conviction, because Ruth knew that if Harry were no longer alive, she would know. Just as if some part of her were suddenly to fall off, an arm, or a leg, she would know. If his heart were to stop beating, she knew hers would as well.
6:40 p.m. Oh, God, Harry. I can't bear this. Ruth felt her eyes begin to blur, and her breathing changed as the thoughts started to take hold. She pushed them away again, but with less conviction. Inside her head, she was begging, please, please, let him be all right.
6:43 p.m. No. He can't be dead. Her head dropped to her chest, and she let the phone go. It fell into the safety of her lap, released finally from the warmth of her hands. And her tears came, dripping off the ends of her lashes, causing small grey circles to spread around the phone and into the fabric of her skirt.
And just as she began to let go of hope, it rang. Harry's number on the screen, and when she pushed the button, his voice. "Ruth?"
Now she was crying, and laughing, and so grateful. "You're late! Oh, God, Harry, you're okay? You're not hurt?"
He groaned, "Uhhh, well, that's up for debate. It only hurts when I breathe."
Ruth stood up and began to pace. After sitting coiled for so long, she had to move. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"
"Unfortunately, that requires breathing, my love. And I'm trying to do as little of that as possible." He paused, and she could hear him groan softly again. "May I tell you when you're here? Only five days. Can you wait?"
Ruth sighed and leant against a bookcase. "Yes, Harry. I can wait. I'm so grateful you're all right. Do you need to be seen by a doctor? Even through a vest, you can get hurt, yes?"
Harry exhaled. "I'm inclined to agree with you there. But I have just been seen. No permanent damage, just the beginnings of quite a magnificent bruise. It's presently about the size of a grapefruit, right over my heart. It should be rather spectacular by the time you arrive." Harry took another ragged breath, and added softly, "I believe it may require kisses."
Remembering the drawing he did on her own bruise in the safe house, Ruth said tenderly, "Keep a pen handy. I'll fix it the way you fixed mine."
"Ah, yes. I was there earlier, Ruth. Sheets piled on the bed, candles still lined up. It was all I could do to concentrate." Harry paused, and then he said slowly, his voice low, "I'm very glad I'm still alive. It means I can make love with you again."
Ruth's tears began to fall afresh, but this time, from gratitude. "I was so scared, Harry."
"I know." His voice was soft in her ear. "Thank you for being calm. It would have made it much harder to do if you weren't. And I had to do it. I know how difficult that must have been for you, my love. I owe you the world for ... " The last words trailed off with his lack of breath.
"Shhhhhh. Don't talk, Harry. You're safe, that's all that matters. I'll hear it all when I get there." She paused, catching her own breath. "Five days." Ruth sighed. "Five days until I'm with you, in England, in our house, in our bed." She laughed at the thought. "I want take-away fish and chips. There are none in all of Paris that compare. And you. I want you."
Harry started to laugh, but then thought better of it, "You're not a very demanding woman. I offer you the world, and you choose fish and chips. And me."
Her voice was gentle, and full of love. "You're all I need. I can even do without the chips."
"I love you very much, my Ruth."
"I love you, too, Harry. I was so afraid I'd lost you. I couldn't breathe."
"I know the feeling. And now, I have to pull myself into some semblance of order and pay a visit to the Home Secretary. I'll call you tonight?"
"Yes, Harry. Anytime. I'll wait up. All night if need be."
"Only five days."
She could hear the smile in his voice. "Yes, Harry. Only five days."
Ruth pulled the scarf around her head more tightly against the chill of the breeze off the water. Tom stood beside her, a tall, strong presence, and she was immensely grateful for him. She found that she was actually quite terrified. There was a slight chance that she could be discovered by the authorities and taken beyond Harry's reach, but that chance was worth it. Below the mist, she could see the distant shore. England. And she knew that Harry was there.
The original plan had been for Tom to take Ruth all the way to Harry's, but Harry wanted to have the drive back to London with her, so she knew he would be waiting in Dover. He'd set his alarm for some godforsaken hour to meet them just outside the border agency. He'd said he wouldn't sleep anyway, knowing that she would be so close.
Ruth looked at her watch. Nearly 4:15 a.m. and as yet, no problems. She felt her heart beating strongly and tried to determine how much of it was fear, and how much was excitement, anticipation. Forty-eight hours, give or take, with Harry. A taste of their lives as they would be together in that elusive and mysterious "someday."
She looked over at Tom and saw that he was looking at her. "You okay?" he asked her with a smile.
She smiled back. "Yes. Nervous. Excited. Scared, a little."
He put his arm around her and squeezed. A brotherly, sweet hug. "It'll be fine." He winked at her. "You're dead, remember? Just a ghost. Ghosts can't be seen."
She laughed. "Well, then, you're married to a ghost, Tom Quinn."
He raised his eyebrows. "God, I'm back to keeping track of legends. I guess we never do leave, do we? Forever spooks."
Ruth looked out at the water and they stood in silence for a moment. Then she spoke, just loudly enough for him to hear her over the engines. "When do you think it will be over, Tom?"
He sighed. "I had hopes of getting the CCTV footage, but I have to be honest, it's becoming pretty clear that Mace had it all destroyed. The only one that exists is the one they faked. So now we're focusing on a confession from Baker, but he's got his heels dug in." Tom shrugged. "Short answer? Don't know."
Ruth kept her eyes out at the sea, and stayed silent. Although Harry was uncharacteristically optimistic about how quickly he could get her home, this was what Ruth had expected, and she knew she could trust Tom to tell her the truth. After a pause, he continued.
"Long answer, Ruth? Find a way to live with the way it is. I know that's not what you want to hear, but you know, the two of you have so much more than most people ever find. I've never seen a man love someone the way he loves you, unless, of course, it's me with my wife." He looked to see if she smiled, and she did, so he went on. "I never thought Harry had it in him, actually. I thought he'd closed himself down over the years, detached himself from any romantic feelings. But he's different now, and it's his love for you that's done it."
Now she looked at him, and in the dim light from the ferry he could see there were tears in her eyes. He tilted his head at her, "Ah, Ruth. Both of you. So much love there, it's completely obvious." He pulled her closer. "Just take it a day at a time, and somehow things will work out. Nothing stays the same, you know? Something will happen. Baker will find Jesus and suddenly confess. Harry will decide he's had enough of the Services and move to Paris. You'll go together to somewhere completely different. Or you'll keep seeing each other when you can. How bad is it, really?"
She suddenly laughed, and the tears spilled over. Ruth caught them with her scarf, and looked at him, her face brighter. "Thanks, Tom. You're right. We are lucky, aren't we?" She hugged his arm to her. "You're good friends, you and Christine. Did Harry tell you our new plan? To get married this summer on Cyprus?"
"Yes, and he invited us. I told him just to let us know when, and we'll be there." He smiled at her. "You know, we've been working so hard at getting the business off the ground, we haven't spared much time for ourselves. You two are good for us."
There was a pale light beginning in the sky at the horizon, as the sun began its rise. With the slight addition of its heat, the mist began to disperse, and Ruth could just barely make out the cliffs in the distance. Her breath caught sharply, and Tom said, "Beautiful, isn't it?"
Her voice choked. "Oh, Tom, you have no idea."
Twenty minutes later, her heart full, Ruth stepped beyond the doors of the border offices and out into the fresh, crisp air of England.
And there was Harry, standing by his car, looking so much like he did the last time she had been here in England with him. Her favourite coat with the lovely velvet collar, his cheeks flushed with the cold and with emotion, his eyes loving her, his lips barely parted. Ruth thought she couldn't bear it, she was so happy.
They walked slowly toward each other, their eyes locked. And when they met, they joined, fitting perfectly, as always. Another kiss, not goodbye this time, but hello. He pulled away and his voice was sweet and soft in her ear.
"Welcome home, my Ruth."
~~~~~
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
She couldn't decide where to look. At Harry and the short curls at his neck in full bloom from the mist of the sea, or the lovely English country that flew by. So she compromised, keeping her fingers in the curls and her eyes floating between him and the road. She did love to watch him drive, his concentration divided, his eyes soft on her.
He was telling her about Davey King, about how it felt when the bullet hit the vest, knocking him backward. "Never been kicked by a mule, but it is an apt description." She was listening to every word, answering him, trying to express her agony in that hour of waiting, but there was a part of Ruth that was so completely in a state of grace, of bliss, that it sat separate, and simply existed. This was the love she had spent her life dreaming of, looking for. He filled her so entirely that she still had to catch her breath now and then.
Now he turned to her with the crooked smile. "Fish and chips? Really? Can't we do better than that?"
She laughed at the non sequitur. "Well, not for breakfast, Harry. Right now, I rather fancy that breakfast we had in Bath, the one that could last all day if we let it?"
"Are you proposing I drive to Bath and get us a room so that you can have breakfast in it?"
She looked at him from under her lashes. "Not just breakfast, then."
For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Then, laughing, they both said, "No."
Ruth spoke first. "God, that was a time, wasn't it? I almost said yes." Her hand moved to his cheek. "I loved Bath, Harry. I'll never forget it. It will always be the place where we first made love. But I want you to take me home. And I wouldn't mind breakfast when we get there."
"Everything we need is waiting. I did a proper shop last night. Good English tea, and I must admit I have most of what we need to recreate that Bath breakfast as well."
Ruth was silent for a moment, and then said, "Thank you, Harry, for making this possible. I know I don't need to tell you what it means to me. To be back here, with you, going home." Harry turned to her with what she thought was her favourite smile, soft, subtle, full of love, but with an underlying desire for her. She suddenly wanted all of him, to feel his skin under her hands, and she murmured softly, "Mmmmm, perhaps breakfast can wait a little ... "
He gazed back at her. "You're going to have to stop looking at me like that, Ruth, or I'll need to pull over. We have three quarters of an hour before we reach London, and at this rate, I won't make it."
She smiled seductively, pulled her hand away and moved back into her seat. "Done. But I had no idea you were so vulnerable to my charms, Harry. A little toying with your curls and a batted eyelash or two, and you're lost? Hate to think what would happen if I did what's really on my mind right now."
Harry put on his turn signal and glanced in the rear view mirror as if he were pulling to the side of the road. Ruth laughed, and said, "No, no, keep going! Harry, you do love to call my bluff, don't you?"
Another smile. This time, the triumphant, playful one. "Behave, then," he said.
"Is this when we talk about rugby, or something equally anti-erotic?" She was quoting him from long ago at her house, and Harry noticed.
"You've such a memory, Ruth. Do you remember everything I say?"
"I suppose I do." She shrugged. "We both said so little for so long. I think quite a lot about those years, Harry, when we did our communicating with our eyes, or a phrase, or a smile. I was thinking the other day about a conversation we had on the Grid, when you had lost the DG job? Do you remember that?"
"Yes, I do, very well. Danny was there. And as I recall it, you, my love, were trying to get away for a date." He turned and raised his eyebrows at her, aware that he was feeling suddenly, ridiculously, irrationally, jealous.
Ruth's cheeks coloured a pale pink. "With a girlfriend, Harry. I always tried to make you all think I had more of a life than I had. I was going out for a drink with Anna, the girl from Special Branch. She was a good source, and apart from that, she did make me laugh, but God, she was desperate for a husband. She used to call us 'the spinsters,' which was beyond irritating."
"So when I called out to you, and you said, 'I'm not listening,' you weren't going to meet a man?"
"No." Ruth paused. "But I wanted you to think I was."
He turned to her and smiled. "Sly girl. It worked." He looked back at the road. "I must admit I wasn't very fair to you in my thoughts that night. I didn't feel then that I had any life to offer you, but I didn't want you to have anyone else either. I actually thought about you quite a lot, after I'd gone home. Sat in my chair with a scotch and tried to imagine your man, what he would look like."
Ruth was curious. "And what did you come up with?"
Harry sighed deeply. "I came up with 'not me.'" He looked back at her. "That was one of the first times I thought that what I felt might be love, my Ruth. Because although I'd never truly felt it before, I understood that real love was wanting you to be happy, even if it meant it wasn't with me."
Her eyes grew soft. "I was very glad you didn't get the DG job, Harry. I told you so. And when you asked me to help you with your interviews, oh, I was in heaven. Thought about it night and day, really. At one point I recall you practically throwing me out of your office, I was such a pest about it."
Harry laughed. "Only because you asked me such damned pointed questions. Felt like I was in an ongoing interview, and you were waiting around every bloody corner with a new issue." He put his hand on hers. "But good questions. Always good questions. I knew I could count on you for that."
Ruth said softly, "I had an interest in the outcome. I didn't want you to go."
"And as I said then, I didn't want the job. But it was still hard to lose it, and to tell you I had. I wanted to impress you ... " He smiled at her, " ... with my desirability."
She smiled back. "No need. The deed was done already." Ruth watched out the window in silence for a moment, and then said, "Harry. Could you be happy with that job now?"
He turned to her. "DG?" She nodded. He considered for a moment, his eyes forward. "That's assuming they'd have me, which is a rather large assumption. Why do you ask?"
Ruth was hesitant, not wanting to lead him too much, but she said, "Well, you did just put yourself in front of a bullet, and I wondered how a desk job looks to you now in the bright light of day."
"Ah." Harry came right to the point, the one she was hoping she'd danced around. "Is this for you, or for me? Would that make you less worried about me?"
Ruth laughed softly and looked down at her hands. "I guess that was a bit transparent, wasn't it?" She looked back at him, her face serious. "Yes. It would. But not if it would make you unhappy." She couldn't hold back, so she reached her hand up again to touch his neck. "I don't want to change your life to the point that you don't know who you are anymore, Harry, but I was so afraid for you. I'm simply wondering if you had a time in mind when you might pull back a bit from the ... the ... work in the field. You're not ... erm ... "
Harry laughed, "Young? Is that the word you're searching for, my love?"
Ruth shook her head vigorously. "No, it's not, because I don't honestly think of your age. You're obviously fit, your mind doesn't seem to be going yet ... " Now she was teasing him, and he turned to look at her with a smile. "...much."
He laughed as she went on, "I think you could do this as long as you wished, Harry. I just wonder sometimes if you have a plan for yourself, that's all."
Harry didn't take long to answer. "It's very interesting you should ask that, my Ruth, because a plan was formulating rather strongly just before I stood up to take that bullet. And it happened to be the very job you just mentioned. You are a bit of a mind reader, you know."
"It's logical, Harry. You have more to lose now than you have in the past, you've said it yourself. And apart from the danger you put yourself in, you have a wealth of experience to bring to that job. As I said, logical. You're the best person to sit in that chair, really." She tickled his neck. "I know a good coach, if you're looking."
"You'd be the one I'd ask, my love. I'd find notes tacked to the bath mirror: 'What's your view on the moral imperative of sacrifice?'" He laughed and looked over at her, "Notes everywhere, on my ties, my pillow, my breakfast?"
Ruth pulled a lock of hair and laughed, too. "You need me, Harry, for a multitude of reasons."
He stopped laughing and looked at her, his eyes warm and deep brown. "Truer words were never said, my love." He turned back. "And I will think about it. I have been thinking about it, quite a lot actually. I'd have to curb my tongue a bit, play the game, but I refuse to turn into a politician to get a job. You understand that?"
"I wouldn't want you to, Harry. And I don't think it's necessary. It's all in how you present your case. And the job isn't open now, so this is a hypothetical discussion, yes?"
"Yes, but now is the time to plant the idea. A few well-placed words about my intentions, and in time, who knows?" They were coming into traffic, and Harry concentrated on the wheel through a tricky turn for a moment, then he continued, "I find I want more time with you, Ruth. I'm forever thinking of ways I can wag school, you know?" He looked at her, smiling.
"What you're saying is that I'm a bad influence on you, Harry." She gazed at him, partially teasing, but partially serious.
He understood what she was asking, and he answered it seriously. "Not a bad influence, but you have got me thinking, Ruth. I'm very conflicted. I love my job, I do it well, and I'm not yet too decrepit to do the things I need to do, even in the field. I suppose I'm not sure what the retirement age should be, but there are times when I hear that voice in my head, saying, 'Aren't you getting a bit old for this?'"
He looked over at her, and with sadness tingeing his voice, said, "And on the heels of that voice comes another, 'Wouldn't you like to lie on a beach with Ruth, to travel, to make love ... ' To be the banker, my Ruth. Something more ... normal." His eyes back on the road, he said, softly, "Part of that thinking is you, to be sure, but it's also partly the residual gift of Davey King's bullet."
Ruth was silent, watching him. She wanted to be sure he really meant this, and wasn't simply saying it because it was what she might want to hear. And she knew it wasn't something they had to think about now. But Ruth was suddenly, paradoxically, grateful to Davey King.
As the light began to fill the car with the sun that was now over the horizon, she could see how tired he looked. She ran her thumb gently across the deep lines at his eyes as he kept his focus on the road. She loved every line on his face, and always had. They gave him animation, whatever "character" was, in a face. They gave his smiles more depth, his sadness more solemnity, his anger more menace. Even his countenance at rest spoke of his life, his experience. Ruth completely loved the look of Harry. She felt she could study him for hours.
But today, he looked tired, and she was aware of a need to comfort, to ease him. She never wanted to pry about his work, but she knew it was work that was on his mind. "How much can you tell me about the last couple of weeks, Harry? Not the specifics, I don't need those. But about how it's affected you? Can you say?"
Harry breathed out softly. "You know I trust you completely, Ruth, yes?" He looked over at her and she nodded as he continued. "It's not a matter of trust, it's a matter of you having information that you ... you don't need, or that would put you in danger." She waited for him to collect his thoughts, which he was clearly trying to do.
"I've thought so much about this lately, as it relates to marriage, to us. There's something I've always felt about this work and those that are close to me, but I don't think I've ever said it to you. I have a target, a bulls-eye, painted on me, Ruth. Look at someone like Davey King, from so long ago and the IRA, still angry with me, still seeking revenge. You can't imagine how many there are out there who want the same."
She nodded. "I can imagine. You stand for your principles, Harry, and you're not afraid. That makes enemies."
"I've never been afraid for me, Ruth, but I find now that I'm afraid for you. When you stand close to me, and you're always close to me now, you stand within that target, my love. And as we discovered with Cotterdam, people can hurt you and it hurts me. It hurts me more than if they came after me directly."
He paused for a moment as he looked back at the road. "I can find a solution to most challenges, but I can't seem to find one for this. I just keep thinking it will come to me, but it doesn't. I worry every day for you. I worry for you right now. "
"Why right now?"
"Because I want to do this very public thing and marry you. I want to shout out to the world that a crusty old spook like me has found this inexpressibly beautiful, bright, winning woman, and that she unaccountably loves me enough to say she'll spend her life with me. But that paints the bulls-eye directly on you, Ruth. " He reached his hand across to hers and turned to look at her. "I start thinking that's selfish of me."
Ruth held his hand in both of hers and shook her head. "This is a decision we're both making, Harry. I choose to be with you. And please don't forget, although I'm in exile, I do work for MI5, too. I have willingly, eyes open, painted that target on myself. Do you recall that there was a paper I signed, one we all signed? That Danny signed? " She paused, her voice going lower. "One that Zaf signed?"
Now Harry was silent, and she knew she had struck a nerve. She simply waited for him to find the words. Then he exhaled, and said, "I know. And any officer who dies is overwhelmingly tragic, but Zaf ... I can't say why, but the way he died, it's like a lead weight on my heart, Ruth. I can't stop thinking about him."
"How did he die? Can you tell me?"
"Do you want to know? Do you want the same picture I have in my head? When you asked me before, I told you it was quick. I wanted to spare you the pain of the truth, but then, am I lying to you by withholding? I wonder if it's fair for you to see me troubled and not know why."
"Then tell me, Harry. I'm asking."
"We haven't recovered his body, and I doubt we will, but we've gotten reports. Spies are a great commodity, Ruth. They have information that is exceptionally valuable to our enemies. Codes, locations, names of other agents, things that can be used against us. An officer is a repository of that information, and there are people out there, very bad people, who will do anything to unlock that repository."
"What are you saying, that Zaf was tortured?"
"Ruth, tell me again. Do you want to hear this?"
She answered without hesitation. "Yes. He was my friend. I can't take what he had to give me in life, and then turn away from his death, Harry. I may be stronger than you think I am."
"I know how strong you are. I just don't want to be indulging myself at your expense."
"Sharing your pain isn't an indulgence. It's what people in love do, what married people do."
"All right, then. From our intelligence, he had been bought and sold numerous times. Tortured, and then passed on to someone else, anyone who was willing to pay. He was very sick with the virus that you read about, and was suffering from a bullet wound to the stomach when they first got him. They must have given him the vaccine so that they could continue to question him."
He could hear her breathing change, becoming faster, deeper. Harry turned to her, his head tilted in a question. She nodded, and said, "I'm fine. Go on."
Harry turned back to the road. "I've been tortured, Ruth. If it's done well, you lose sight of everything you know, of rules, of honour, of right and wrong. The information you hold, that you once knew was so important to keep, begins to lose its context, and you wonder why you can't simply tell them what they want to know. You long for peace, for quiet, for stillness. You dream of another life, the one you used to know, and it begins to be the dream, the thing that isn't real."
She lifted his hand and kissed it. "I'm so sorry, Harry." Ruth's love for him was strong enough that she could almost feel the pain he was describing. "But you survived. And for Zaf, you said there was no body. Are we certain he's dead?"
"Ros brought back his clothes." Harry looked at her to be assured that she was still all right, and then continued. "Covered in his blood. The word from her source was that he had died in his cell. Poor bastard was wishing for it, I'm certain. These are horrifying people, Ruth. No humanity."
Ruth was silent for a moment, and then she sighed. "Poor Zaf. Poor sweet Zaf."
Harry's anger was beginning to surface. "It's the business we're in. And the thing about it is, even if we leave it, we can't ever, for as long as we live, forget that it goes on every day. We can't lose our memories, can we?" He looked over at Ruth, who stayed silent, wanting him to talk it out.
"The old ones, the men mostly, who have done my job and others like it, the primary feature of their elderly lives seems to be a sort of survivor's guilt. The question seems to be, why was I spared when so many others lost their lives? What is it about fate, or destiny, or whatever name you choose to give it, that allows some to be chosen and others not?"
"So I watch new officers come through the door, and I sit in meetings, and all I can think is, will they be at this table next year? Next month? Next week?" He looked over at her, his eyes glistening. "And will I be at the table?"
"Oh, Harry." She reached over and put her hand on his arm. He took a hand from the wheel and held hers. Ruth said, "Are you ready to leave it? Entirely? You sound at times as if you might be."
Harry raised his eyebrows and exhaled. "Christ, I'm completely conflicted. Utterly torn. One day it's yes, the next it's never." He kissed her hand. "The difference is that now, I have someone to talk with about it." He looked at her with love in his eyes. "Someone who won't ask me to do bloody word associations."
She smiled coyly at him, feeling he'd said all he wanted to for now. "Maybe I should." Ruth tilted her head. "Love?"
Harry moved his hand to her face, trying to keep one eye on the road. He said tenderly, "Us."
"Breakfast?" She gave him the hungriest, most pitiful look she could muster.
He laughed. "Soon."
"After?" She raised her eyebrows slightly.
His voice was low, warm, soft. "Sex."
Ruth laughed. "God, Harry, we are compatible. Those would have been my answers exactly!"
~~~~~
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
There was a shaft of light from the setting sun that fell soft across her back as she slept. Harry hadn't closed his eyes, nor would he until it was dark and he could see her no longer. He'd had enough regrets about the last night Ruth had spent here in his bed. He was unwilling to sacrifice memories for sleep this time around.
He longed to touch her, but didn't, for fear of waking her. They'd each had little or no sleep the night before, and he wanted her to rest. Harry thought with a smile that lack of sleep was a theme, of sorts, in their relationship. Their secrets meant that the time they spent together fell outside of their conventional lives, beyond their responsibilities. So they talked and travelled and made love in the time they would be allowed an absence from the rest of the world, the time they would normally sleep.
He couldn't see her face, but he didn't need to. It was caught in his memory, imprinted there forever. He scanned down her lovely long neck to the small indentation where her shoulder blades met, down the line of her back to the drape of the sheets just over her hip. The reflection on his butterscotch bedroom turned her skin the colour of caramel. As he watched, the light of the waning sun drew deep shadows in the folds of the eggshell-coloured cotton, and transformed her before his eyes into a Botticelli masterpiece.
He watched and listened for a time to the perfect synchronisation of the rise of her chest and the soft sound of her breath, rhythmic, even, unhurried. She was so vulnerable and trusting in the act of sleep, in letting go. He wondered if she was dreaming, and if she dreamt of him. He wanted to keep her here forever, hidden, safe, and his.
Harry was just about to give in to his desire to run a finger across her back, when she stirred and gave a soft sigh. She turned toward him, draping her arm over her head in a move so unselfconsciously graceful that it caused him to catch his breath. Ruth looked at him with sleepy eyes and smiled. "Hello, Harry," she said.
He leant forward and kissed her, mostly because he couldn't speak. At times, the depth of his feeling for her confused and frightened him. When he came in contact with the full measure of her importance in his life, as he did right now, he felt lost, almost helpless. He pulled away and brushed his thumb across her lips, feeling their texture and the softness there, and seeing the delicate natural shade of pink that was present without any enhancements. She was a wonder to him. Finally, he found his voice. "Hello, my Ruth."
"What time is it?"
Harry gazed over her head at his watch. "Quarter to nine."
She looked at him, her eyes still drowsy. "Long days. Summer's coming. What's today, the 18th of May? June comes next. That's summer." She reached a hand up and brushed his hair back from his forehead, and said softly, "People get married in the summer."
Harry smiled at her. "Yes, they do." He kissed her again, this time longer, deeper, as he pressed his full length against her. Her body was warm from sleep, pliable and soft.
When they'd first arrived at his house early this morning, they'd managed part of the breakfast Ruth wanted, but had only eaten some strawberries and a slice of toast, standing up, while starting to prepare eggs and sausages. A shared strawberry was all it had taken, sweet and succulent, followed by a kiss too sensuous to stop. The stove was turned off, perishables back to the fridge, and they were on their way up the stairs.
There was a nudge out for all three animals and a firmly closed bedroom door. Ruth reclaimed her side of the bed, and after eighty-seven long days, they were finally at home, in each other's arms. Harry held her for a time, as Ruth suddenly found the emotion too difficult to contain. She tried to explain her tears, but Harry quieted her. He understood, because he was feeling it just as strongly as she was.
It was as if they had both been swimming against a powerful tide during the long days that led to this moment. The last time they lay here their minds had been relatively untroubled - after Bath and before Maudsley, Cotterdam, exile, separation, and stolen nights. A whole future lay before them then, and although they had known some uneasy feelings about that future, they never could have imagined the road they would be on now.
Slowly, as her tears stopped and her breathing calmed, Harry moved his lips across her forehead, then down to taste the salt of her still-wet cheeks. He whispered, "I know, I feel it too," and she leant up to meet him. They joined in a kiss that contained all of their joy of at last being back here together, but also the bittersweet knowledge that there was always a time limit on their happiness. They both knew all too well that every hello had a goodbye moving fast behind it.
Harry was ready to simply hold her, perhaps to have her sleep in his arms, but Ruth let him know she still wanted more. Her fingers played across his back and then moved around to unbutton his shirt, slowly, as they kissed. When his chest was free, her hands slid under the fabric and around him, and she pulled him to her. Harry groaned softly, and Ruth moved away with a question in her eyes. That is, until her eyes fell on the fiercely coloured purples, blues, yellows, and greens of the bruise that spread from his collarbone down over the left side of his chest. She gasped, and said, "Oh, my God, Harry!"
"Quite a sight, isn't it?" He looked down as far as he could, and then met her eyes.
Ruth looked at it again, and ran her fingertips over it, so gently that they felt like feathers to Harry. Then her lips, light on his skin, and Harry actually felt a lessening of the ache, as if she were administering some ethereal anaesthetic with her mouth. She murmured as she moved, trying to draw the pain out of it. Harry lay back, and with a low laugh said softly, "I thought kisses might be needed."
Harry ran his fingers through her hair, and began to feel himself wanting her. He opened his eyes and started to move to his side, but she whispered gently, "No, stay there." Without a word, she undressed him, trousers first, and then, being careful not to hurt him, she worked his shirt down over his shoulders and off.
Ruth stood and undressed herself as he lay and watched, and then moved over him until she was sitting, gazing down at him, her beautiful body straight, her pale skin glowing against the strong light coming through the windows. Her face held one of the looks Harry so loved, a combination of the shyness she felt in the bright light of day, and the passion that drove her to overcome her innate timidity.
She looked at the bruise, in full view now. "Does it hurt if you don't move, Harry?"
He looked up at her, wanting badly to touch her, to hold her, his pain a distant memory. Her face was now serene, calm, as she looked at his chest and then into his eyes. He said, "No, not if I'm still."
She gave him just the hint of a smile. "Then be still."
She kept her eyes on Harry and began to move her hips slowly against him. His hands rested on the soft skin of her thighs, and when he tried to reach further, she smiled and said, "No. Remember the tub in Bath? It's my turn, and this is for you."
She resisted her desire to bend down and kiss him. Staying where she was as they moved together, Ruth had the advantage not only of seeing Harry, but the view of the bedroom. She felt she was fully here with him, every sensation clear, but she was also memorising everything for later. Even when the wondrous feelings began to overtake her, she forced herself to keep her eyes open, to look at him, at the patterns the morning sunshine made on the butterscotch panel in front of her. And as she eased herself onto him, she still kept her eyes on his.
Among the gifts of watching his face as they made love was that she saw not only the tenderness in his eyes, but also his gradual release, his surrender to her. Harry trusted her completely, and she saw him let go of the control that was the defining factor of his days. He raised his arms above his head, opening himself fully to her as she moved, and then he allowed himself to fall with her, and to let her see that fall. Ruth reached out and took his hands in hers and they clenched tightly, until finally, they both gave in and closed their eyes, lost.
Now she bent to kiss him, gently, putting no pressure on his chest, but his arms went round her and he pulled her tightly to him, no longer feeling the pain inflicted by Davey King. Harry felt only her, his one love, his Ruth. They lay in each other's arms, catching their breath. Ruth nuzzled her face into his neck, feeling his heartbeat there, where the warmth and the divine, familiar scent of his sandalwood shave soap enveloped her.
They drifted for a time, not asleep, but at rest, at peace, content, and happy.
Harry moved slightly and bent his head down to kiss her tenderly on the forehead. He whispered to her, "It seems to me we never had that breakfast. Are you still hungry? I am."
She gazed up at him. "Such a relief to not have it always be me who's the hungry one. Yes, I'm starved." She rolled over on her back and stretched like a cat. "God, it's lovely to be here, Harry."
Harry sat up slowly, taking care not to antagonise the muscles of his left arm, which were still sore. "It's even lovelier to have you here. A definite increase in ambiance since you arrived." He leant down and picked up his shirt. "Your uniform, miss." Harry turned and kissed her. "Please. It makes me very happy," he said with his lopsided smile.
Smiling back at him, Ruth took it and shrugged into it. "I love your shirts, Harry. I still have the one you gave me. I wear it to bed sometimes." She snuggled up to his back. "It's lost the scent of you, though. I think I'll have to pinch some of your soap while I'm here."
They made their way back downstairs and had another try at breakfast. Before long, they were sitting at the kitchen table over steaming cups of Earl Grey, strawberries, savoury eggs, and maple pork sausages. Scarlet, Phoebe and Fidget, delighted by the aromas and the activity in the house, surrounded them, waiting patiently for something wonderful to happen.
Ruth pointed her fork at Harry disapprovingly. "You've taught them to beg, Harry."
He raised his eyebrows, wanting to set her straight. "Ah, no, there was no teaching involved with those two. Your girls had all the skills long before I ever got to them. And, Christ, the rubbing! I've had to purchase boxes of those lint-rollie gadgets, or forever decide against wearing dark trousers." He popped a strawberry in his mouth. "Where do they get all that hair?"
Laughing, Ruth gave him a pitying look. "Oh, poor Harry. I have changed your life, haven't I?"
He leant back, smiling. "You have no idea, Ruth."
"Actually, I think I do." She took a sip of her tea and looked back at him, teasing, "All for the better, I might add."
Harry reached for a second strawberry. "I know you think I'll complain at that statement, but I happen to agree with you. My colleagues might not, as here it is, another day, and I'm not on duty."
"Well it is Sunday, Harry. But is this me, being a bad influence again?"
Harry nodded solemnly. "Absolutely leading me astray." Then he smiled at her and shook his head lightly. "You must know that in any case, barring a national emergency, I'd be here with you. But actually, I'm on doctor's orders. He said unless work was totally necessary, I should take the week and rest. Normally I would tell him to bugger off and do as I please, but for some reason this time his counsel seemed rather sound." Harry smiled slyly. "Don't you think?"
Ruth gave him a mock frown, "Of course. It's very bad for your health to go against doctor's orders." She reached her foot out and curled it around his. "Anyway, I know exactly what makes you feel better."
"Yes, you do." Harry narrowed his eyes at her, smiling. "My Nurse Ruth."
She tilted her head at him, "Ah, I like that. Yet another profession to add to my resumé." Ruth took one last bite of her eggs and pushed her plate away. "So, who's on call today? Adam or Ros?"
Harry stared back at her, and realised suddenly that he had never told her. Davey King had come into town on the day of Ros' "funeral," and from that point forward their short talks had been about Harry getting shot or Ruth getting to London.
Ruth saw the change in him immediately. "What, Harry? What is it?"
"Ros." At Ruth's alarmed look, he said quickly, "No, she's all right." He shook his head. "At least, I believe she is. She's in exile. She betrayed us, put a wire on the Grid, several, actually, and in my office... " Harry's voice trailed off, and he suddenly stopped. In my office. Why had this not occurred to him before? If Yalta was listening in on his conversations, how many had they heard whilst he was on his mobile with Ruth? He didn't think he'd ever used her name, only Sophie's, but what had he said? Had he ever said Paris?
Ruth squeezed his hand. "Harry. You've just gone white as a ghost. Are you well? What is it?"
In that split second, Harry made the decision not to tell her. He wasn't certain anyway, so why worry her? And why ruin the two days that they had together, finally, here in London? In fact, it was the same decision that Ruth had made in Calais, not to tell Harry about the couple who came to the shop looking for Sophie Persan. Both of these decisions to withhold were based in a care for the other, a desire not to set them worrying, a feeling there was probably nothing to it.
Had they shared what they knew, it's likely that they would have put two and two together, and they would have taken action. As it was, Harry promised himself that straightaway on Tuesday morning he would talk to Malcolm about the technology and capacity of the bug they found in his office. And when Ruth thought of the visitors to the shop, it only reminded her that she still needed to get Harry's ring size without his knowing.
Harry picked up her hand and held it, in response to her question. "I'm fine. Just hadn't realised I didn't tell you about Ros. We were on an op ... Christ, it was a week ago today. I thought she died right in front of me. I was bound and couldn't get to her, couldn't save her ... " The memory of it took hold for a moment, and he descended into silence, his eyes still locked on Ruth.
Ruth moved closer, speaking softly, "But you did save her. She's alive."
"No, Adam did. Juliet injected her with ..."
"Juliet? Juliet was there?"
Harry started from the beginning. He didn't tell Ruth too much, but it did feel natural to talk with her about work. He still felt as if she was his officer, his best sounding board. He stopped short of specifics, such as Yalta's mission to sabotage the American satellites or their connection to the people who took Zaf. He simply said that Juliet was working against MI5 now, and Ruth didn't press him further.
Right now, Ruth was looking slightly stunned. Finally she spoke, and it was with a tinge of bitterness. "Juliet not paralysed? And to think, I actually felt sorry for her." She peered at Harry under a typical Ruth frown. "Tell me she found some miracle cure, and that she wasn't just playing all of us."
"I can't. I honestly don't know. I don't have any idea who she is anymore."
"I was so jealous of her, Harry. She seemed to be everything I wasn't."
Harry stood and picked up his plate to take it to the sink, and as he reached around to get Ruth's, he kissed her. "You are nothing alike, my love. I thank God for that."
Ruth gathered up the cups and silver and followed him. "And Ros, what was she thinking?" Harry turned to speak, and she stopped him. "No, don't, Harry. I know you're only telling me part of this, and I don't want you to feel you have to cross the line. Knowing Ros, she had a reason. I'm not sure she's ever gotten over her father being sent to prison, and she may still blame you for that. So it makes sense that her ideology combined with her anger, and then led to her betraying you."
Harry started the hot water running in the sink, smiling at her assessment. "Very concise, as usual. And yes, I agree." Then he turned to Ruth, less cheerful. "I haven't had much of a chance to miss Ros on the Grid, but I will. And I truly worry about Adam. I think they ... were ... erm ..."
Ruth's eyebrows raised. "Together? Really?" She held up Harry's cup, asking if he wanted a fresh one, and he nodded. "I can see that being true. But, God, that means he's lost another ... oh, Harry, poor Adam." She pulled the tea down from the cupboard. "And I'll assume Ros is far, far away." Under her breath, she said, "I'll never get my coat back now."
Harry turned to her, "Sorry?"
Ruth laughed. "Oh, Ros and I switched coats when she took my place at my house. She got my lovely camel one, and I got her black wool. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I imagined walking onto the Grid when this is all over, and asking for my coat back."
Harry went back to the dishes, "You're still a little angry with her, aren't you?"
Ruth shrugged as she poured out the tea. "Oh, I don't know. Angry is a strong word. What would have happened if she hadn't reported me to Mace, Harry? It seemed to have been his plan from the beginning to frame me for Maudsley's murder, and, really, Ros just helped move it along. I suppose it did baffle me why she hated me so much, though."
"It wasn't you. It's another example of the target I was talking about. She knew you were special to me." He turned to look softly at Ruth. "Although she didn't know how special." He put another dish in the rack. "She wanted to hurt me. And I think she was sorry, Ruth. In her way."
"I suppose, although she did tell me she never apologised." Ruth grimaced at him. "What a luxury that must be." She leant up and kissed him on the neck as he stood at the sink. "Come, leave the dishes, we'll finish them later. I'm starting to get sleepy, Harry. I'm feeling there will be a very long nap in my future."
Harry dried his hands and followed her into the lounge. He took the cup she handed him, and sat on the sofa next to her. Within moments, all three animals were cuddled in, Scarlet at Harry's feet, and Fidget and Phoebe curled around Ruth's legs and lap.
Harry and Ruth looked around them and smiled. Ruth said, "Well, isn't this a lovely little family?"
Harry put his arm round her, and pulled her close to him. "Yes." He kissed her head, gently. "Yes, it is."
~~~~~
No comments:
Post a Comment