CHAPTER NINETEEN
They managed to get out of the room by 12:04, to their amazement. The pretty desk clerk had responded well to Harry's smile, which seemed to him a permanent fixture these days. He would have to work on that. He was, after all, on his way back to the Grid, where the face he had been wearing recently had no place. He was actually having some rather serious thoughts about it as he drove. Harry Pearce was afraid he may have lost his edge in this glorious happiness, and as he drove, he was trying very hard to find it.
He looked over to Ruth quickly, and she seemed lost in thought, but a smile also seemed the default level of her face this morning. Her lovely mouth, which Harry had noticed over the years had a tendency to turn down just a bit no matter what her state of mind, had found its path upward, and seemed fairly stuck there.
She felt him looking at her, and turned. Now he got the full benefit of her smile, and what little edge he had managed to retrieve began to melt. He smiled back and squeezed her hand between them, but, in truth, Harry was worried.
There was something he needed to tell her. "Ruth, I want us to talk about something. Something I'm feeling."
For a moment, Ruth went back. Back to the Ruth that thought nothing good might ever happen to her, the insecure one, the one that thought she wasn't pretty and was too smart by far to ever find a man who would put up with her. But she trusted Harry completely. She had handed her whole heart to him in Bath, and she knew she held his, right now. She pushed the old Ruth away, and turned in her seat to give him her full attention. "Anything, Harry. I'll talk to you about anything."
He looked back at her. He wanted to say this the right way. In this moment he was glad that he was so infused with the softness of their love, because he could speak gently. All he had to do was open his heart, and the gentleness would come out.
"You know how much I love you, Ruth." She nodded at him, but he could see she was starting to get a little worried. Nip that in the bud. "I'm not going to say anything here that's going to hurt you, my Ruth. You are a part of my life now." He kissed the hand that he held as he watched the road, stealing looks at her when he could.
"Go on, Harry. I trust you."
"Good. I'm just feeling something that's worrying me, and it's in me, not you." He paused, measuring his words. "You've seen me on the Grid. We talked just last week after Havensworth about the decisions that need to be made, hard ones. In the past, you've called me a cold bastard, and you've been right. I think those two words may actually be in my job description."
Ruth had a feeling where this was going, and part of her relaxed.
Harry went on. "The last three days have been magical, Ruth." He laughed, shaking his head. "Christ, there's my point exactly. When was the last time you heard Harry Pearce use the word, 'magical?'" He looked over at her, "Bloody hell, Ruth, am I too contented to be Section Head? All I can think about is you. My beautiful Ruth. Your voice, your body, the feel of you."
She submerged the thrill his words gave her, feeling slightly guilty that what was causing him pain was causing her so much happiness. "Harry. You've known the Grid much longer than you've known my body. Don't you think it will all return to you when you step back through the pods?"
Harry pursed his lips. "Yes, to a degree. But even the last week, before we had this week-end, I was distracted. Something would happen and I couldn't wait to tell you about it. I was timing myself to be sure I didn't look at you too much. Half of me has been missing because it was with you."
She simply gazed at him, waiting for him to continue.
He looked over at her and smiled. "Ah, you see? Look at you. You're bloody beautiful Ruth. Your hair blowing just across your cheek, your eyes … God, your eyes. How am I supposed to function?"
Ruth sighed, "You were a poet long before this week-end, Harry. I always knew it. Somewhere inside, so did you."
His voice rose. "Yes, but I need to be a warrior, Ruth."
Ruth held her eyes on him. "With a poet's soul, Harry. A warrior with a poet's soul. You have both. It's why you're so good at your job."
Harry realised he had both hands gripping the wheel right now, and he relaxed his fingers on the smooth leather. He willed himself to calm, took himself back to the beginning in the way that always helped him solve a problem.
"I think we need to set some rules. I need them. And I need you to agree to them. " He knew he was speaking more sharply than he wanted to, but he had to get this clear in his mind. He was having his version of the actor's dream right now, the one he remembered from his school days when he was performing Shakespeare.
More like the actor's nightmare, really. You stand on a stage, the audience is full, and you have no idea what play you are in or what your lines are. The people wait, expectantly, eyes upturned to you on the stage, and your mind is blank. Every actor has it at one time or another, and Harry was having it now. The only way to overcome it, as an actor, is to run and rerun your lines until you can do them in your sleep.
Harry took Ruth's hand again and looked over at her. She was being his Ruth, his rock, the one that sat in briefings and let him speak sharply and still stayed open to him, allowed him to bluster, and rage, and still returned his gaze, unmoving. Harry thanked God for her, at the same time he sensed the well of feeling start to pull him under again. No. Focus. Don't be indulgent.
He spoke matter-of-factly, his tone even. "You can't imagine how many things I know that I don't tell you all." Harry sighed and his voice grew softer. "Things you don't want to know." He paused for a moment, and took a deep breath. "I can't tell you everything, Ruth. I will learn things in meetings, in phone calls, from reading files, that I will never tell you."
"I don't need to know everything, Harry."
"Ah, yes, you say that now." He looked over at her again. She was patiently listening. "Do you remember the Contingent Events Committee? When you and Adam confronted me, asking me if I'd ever been a member?" Ruth nodded.
Harry looked ahead at the road. "I lied to you. Bold-faced, flat-out, lied to you. And I will again, if I have to. You may ask me a question, with those eyes that I love more than I can express, and I will lie to you. Even if they look sad, as they do now, even if you plead with me to open my heart, to tell you, I may need to lie to you, Ruth. It may be because I need to protect you. Give you plausible deniability, as was the case with the CEC." He was challenging her, wanting to feel himself on firm ground.
Ruth squeezed his hand. "I know, Harry."
"But you didn't then. You stood there and I watched myself crumble in your eyes. How did you feel when you saw my name on those minutes? When you knew that I had lied to you, when you knew that I'd attended that Committee meeting? The Committee that you thought had murdered Diana?"
Ruth looked at Harry, remembering. He was right. That moment had been a defining one for her. "I thought I didn't know you. That I had been wrong about you." Her voice went softer. "That I couldn't love a man who would do that."
Harry looked over at her. "Yes. And I watched it all in your eyes." He looked back to the road. "And when I explained it to you? What then?"
The memory was still clear to her, even now. Her knees had almost buckled, standing there at his desk. "Oh, God, such relief. Anger at myself for doubting you. Happiness that I could still have you. But most of all, relief that my instincts about you hadn't gone so terribly wrong."
"Yes." He reached over and took her hand again. His voice was soft, pained. She heard in it what he had felt then. "I had to be willing to lose you then, Ruth. If you had never asked me about it, if you had let me go without telling me? If you had just known in your heart that I was not a man to be trusted or loved, admired or respected? I would have had to let it go at that, and I would have lost you." He paused for a moment, gathering the emotions that rose just at the thought. His voice went softer, still. "I don't believe I could do that now. And there, Ruth, is my dilemma."
"Oh, Harry." She searched her heart now. Would he have lost her? She gave him her answer. "I don't think it's that simple. I know you now. We've talked about things that I've only been able to guess at. And every feeling I've had has been right, so I can trust myself. Trust that I know who you are inside, Harry, no matter what your job forces you to do."
The tightness in Harry's heart eased up a bit, and he smiled his thanks to her. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I will always do the best I can, Ruth. But I know there will come a time when you will care deeply about something, and you'll look in my eyes, wondering what I know. I may have to keep it from you. I may disappoint you. And God help me, I may have to lie to you."
"I understand, Harry. Really, I do. As long as you never lie to me about us. About this." She took his hand and placed it on her heart.
"That's a promise." Harry held her eyes as long as he could, and then looked back to the road. They went for a time, both lost in their own thoughts, and then Ruth spoke.
"About the CEC? I was wrong, Harry. I should have known better."
He shook his head. "No, you weren't wrong, you just didn't have enough information. And that's where it gets muddled for me, Ruth. I don't want you to blindly go where I go. I count on you doubting me." He turned to her, and traced his fingers gently across her forehead. "I look to the gentle folds that form here, rather like an external conscience sitting next to me. Sometimes I disagree, and I tell you, but often your lovely troubled forehead makes me pause, and think, and wonder just exactly what it is that has distressed you. I don't want that to stop."
Ruth laughed softly. "I'll still do that. I'm not sure I could stop even if I wanted to." She smiled at him. "I understand the difference. Question you, Harry, but don't doubt your motives, or your commitment to the best solution. That's what you're asking."
"Yes. That's what I'm asking."
Ruth shook her head, but she was smiling. "Oh, those grey areas. We analysts don't much like them, you know? Black and white are quite a bit more comfortable."
"You'd like to think you want the black and white, Ruth, but one of the reasons you're so expert at what you do is your passion. You care. It matters to you if right is done. You have this extraordinary faith in the world, in its goodness, and that generally leads into grey areas, and very messy ones." Harry gave her a soft smile. "I've envied you your belief in good sometimes."
"You have it too, Harry. You're just not quite so bloody starry-eyed about it."
Harry smiled at her, his love so evident in his eyes. "You do see the best in me. I hope that's realistic love, Ruth, because I very much want this to last. I don't want to disappoint you, but I have to make decisions as I see them. I feel that I have my own little corner of the world, and if I can make it at all better, that's to the good. But I don't always do right. Sometimes when I make mistakes, people die, and I have to live with that. Armour is required. I just want you to know that I love you, even as I wear it."
"I love you too, Harry. I love what's under the armour." He was much too serious for her to tell him she had just remembered him reading the paper. Ruth knew that if she ever had a question about whether he wore his armour with her, she had a lovely memory to take out.
They drove on in companionable silence for a time, before Ruth brought up the beauty of the church in Bath, and how much she had enjoyed the day with him. They promised they would go there again someday, for a longer time. Before they knew it, Harry was turning into the city.
"There's another thing I want to talk with you about. Actually, something I want to show you." Ruth tamped down her natural curiosity and didn't ask questions until Harry was ready to talk about it. She was practicing what he had asked her to do, just trusting him.
They drove to a part of the city she hadn't seen, some manufacturing, abandoned warehouses, badly used buildings. He pulled to the curb outside one of them, a drab, dirty structure that looked virtually uninhabited. "You brought this to mind, Ruth, with your questions over breakfast yesterday."
Ruth leant forward, and peered up at the building in front of them. "What is this place?"
"My very own safe house. Declassified. Unknown to all but a few. I purchased the fourth floor of this building with no connection to the security services or the government. Having been booted out on my ear various times, and not knowing whom to trust, I felt a need for it."
Ruth looked at him as he peered through the windscreen, his face so serious, his eyes having taken on the tired, guarded look of the Harry she had known for so long. She tried to do as she had done in Bath, superimpose her Harry, the one that laughed so often, over this one, but she had little success. Ruth sighed. They were truly back now. Not on the Grid, but might as well be.
Ruth unlatched her belt, and moved over next to Harry, and then she reached down and unlatched his. She put her hand on his cheek and held it there, softly. He turned to look at her, and she leant up and kissed him with all the love she was feeling. She willed that love to move from her heart, through her lips and into him. And, suddenly, there he was again. The coldness disappeared with the warmth from her mouth, and he put his arms around her, holding her close.
Harry spoke close to her ear. "I wanted you to know about this place, because I never want you to be so alone that you have nowhere to go, Ruth. I want you always to be safe. If you ever hear the word Sunstrike, you come here, yes? And I will be here the moment I can. You'll remember this?" His voice had an urgency to it, and Ruth responded quickly, to calm him.
"Yes, Harry. I'll remember." She started to say that she would never need it, but stopped. She knew, as Harry did, that in this line of work, things just happened.
Mik Maudsley's military and intelligence training had come in very handy. Now all he had to do was get the information into the right hands.
As the car pulled into the garage, Maudsley moved further into the shadows. He watched Pearce get out of the car, and for a moment thought of simply crossing the street and going to him. Until he saw him go around to the passenger door and open it for someone else. A woman.
Maudsley recognised her from his files as Ruth Evershed, and he couldn't believe his luck. He knew he had to get his information to Pearce, but doing it directly felt too dangerous. All his research had told him there was no one remotely close to the Head of Section D. Now, as the couple pulled bags from the boot of the car and made their way up the front steps, it was clear that there was, in fact, someone very close to Harry Pearce.
~~~~~
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ruth stepped in to Harry's house for the second time in her life, and had to laugh at the memory. Harry followed her in and closed the door. He put down the bags and put his arms around her from the back, capturing her. "You're laughing again, Ruth. Amused by my body, and now my home. You seem to find me enormously entertaining."
"Harry, please tell me I didn't come over here in fuzzy slippers and pyjamas. Until this moment, I seem to have blocked that memory out." She put her face in her hand and shook her head.
"Your attire was absolutely logical. You were distraught. You were desperately in love with me, my Ruth, and you had just heartlessly rejected me when I asked you to dinner." Harry moved her hands away from her face, and kissed her cheek. "You did manage to put on a coat. That was a blessing." He moved his lips down to her neck, first on the right side, and then travelling over to the left, kissing the charms again. "Ummm," he said softly, "I do like these little baubles. I may have to kiss them every day, just for luck."
"Clever of me to get them, then." Ruth turned around and caught his lips with her own. Henry James Pearce was back, in the comfort of his own home. They might as well have been in Bath. Ruth's head was spinning a bit trying to keep up with him, but she reckoned she'd better get used to it. Life with Harry was never going to be boring.
They had picked up Chinese on the way from the safe house to Harry's, so they sat at the kitchen table with chopsticks and ate directly from the cartons whilst sipping wine. They couldn't seem to talk of anything but travelling, everywhere and anywhere. Now that they knew what kind of travellers they would be together, there was no country in the world that was off limits.
Harry speared a piece of almond chicken and popped it in his mouth. "There's been a shift in me. I can feel it as surely as I feel my love for you. I've played at wanting The Grand Tour, like a man who always says he will buy a boat, or purchase the summer home, but never really intends it in reality. But now I want it. I want those days we just spent in Bath to stretch out ahead of us, but in Madrid and Rome."
"I was just talking with Zaf about that the other day." At Harry's look, she said quickly, "Well, not about exactly that, Harry, just about wanting to travel. He's young, certainly, but he's lived. He spent his gap year travelling around the world, on money he'd earned from odd jobs."
"You admire him." Harry took a sip of wine.
"Yes, very much. I know he's somewhat young, and quite the lady's man, but I trust him completely. He's intensely loyal to his friends, and highly principled. I sort of think of him as the Grid conscience."
"Well, then, perhaps you can tell me why he can find no other adjectives apart from the word 'cool.' I can't say exactly why it annoys me so much, except that it has something to do with civilization going straight to hell without even an adequate vocabulary to describe it."
Ruth laughed. "I know what you mean. Makes me feel old. I want to hand people dictionaries. And of course, it's compounded by the fact that they know practically nothing about any kind of mythology, or classic English literature." She smiled at Harry, shaking her head. "Do I sound like a terrible snob?"
"Absolutely. A couple of old fuddy-duddies, Ruth, that's us. It's hard to keep up, really."
Ruth gave up with the chopsticks and just plucked out some barbecue pork with her fingers. "It is hard to keep up. Another reason I am so in awe of Malcolm. He stays right on top of everything new, and seems to love doing it." She looked across at Harry. "He knows about us, doesn't he?"
Harry smiled back at her. "Yes. I had to, Ruth."
"I knew that you couldn't have spent the night in my room at Havensworth without telling him. I wouldn't have wanted you to." She suddenly looked up in alarm. "But not Jo?"
"No, Malcolm covered for us."
"Good. I like Jo, but she's prone to the dramatic. And to gossip." Ruth laughed. "Which I seem to be indulging in a bit right now. Is this inappropriate? For me to talk about my co-workers to our boss?"
"It would be if everything you were saying weren't already highly evident to your boss." He looked across from her, his eyes soft. "I know how to keep a secret, Ruth."
Ruth smiled back at him. "You seem to be a trustworthy sort of fellow." They had another of those moments that was happening more lately. Time stopped, holding nothing but their eyes in it. But then they both came back to the present, and Ruth continued. "As we're gossiping, perhaps you can answer a question for me."
"I will if I can."
"I get the distinct feeling that Ros doesn't like me. Am I just being sensitive, or do you see it too?"
"I don't see it, but I can't always be trusted to understand how women relate to each other. I generally have enough trouble just relating to them myself." Ruth smirked at him, as he knew she would, and Harry continued. "But my first guess would have to do with the fact that Ros considers herself a field agent, and she sees you as being of the desk spook variety."
Ruth sat up a little straighter. "And tell me what field agents would do without us?"
Harry put his hands up in front of him and laughed. "Just the messenger, my love. You asked, I answered."
Ruth relaxed a little. "Sorry. It's just that what we do is terrifically valuable. Indispensible, Harry."
"You don't have to convince me, Ruth." He couldn't resist just one more bite of chicken, which he pulled out with his fingers. "It may also just be a case of two very strong women with somewhat different styles." Harry leant back in his chair. "We were talking about passion earlier, you and I? You know I love you, Ruth, but … "
"Ah, that's never a good way for a sentence to start. What have I done now?" Ruth asked.
"… but, you do tend to just blurt out whatever is on your mind. I, of course, enjoy it immensely."
"Of course."
"But others might wish for a slight pause between brain and tongue."
"An example, please, Harry."
Harry leant back further and put his hands behind his head. "Well, in the briefing about the thermobaric bombs, I think Ros said, and I'm paraphrasing here, 'Sometimes you have to destroy a lot of haystacks to find the needle,' and you shot back, 'and sometimes you have to stop hiding behind metaphors.'" He leant forward again, smiling and taking her hand. "You have a quick wit, my Ruth, and your own sharp tongue to go with it. Ros might find that less than endearing, since she considers that her role on the Grid."
"Harry, I would have to disagree with you." She took a sip of her wine, smiling slyly over the rim of her glass. "I think you see perfectly how women relate to each other."
They sat in silence for a long moment, just happy to be in each other's company. Finally Ruth spoke, her eyes locked on Harry's. "I like how it feels here, Harry. I like your house." She looked from the kitchen table out to the lounge. "Are there other rooms I should see?" She tilted her head, peering back at Harry. "Upstairs, perhaps?"
He leant back in his chair again, just enjoying the moment, before he spoke. "You need to understand something." He took a dramatic pause as she waited, her eyebrows raised. "I have never, ever, had a woman in that bedroom upstairs." He smiled at Ruth. "Apart from Scarlet, of course."
Ruth smiled. "Then I shall receive the honour with the appropriate reverence, Harry."
Harry stood and took Ruth's hand in his. "That's good. Genuflection is appreciated." He walked her over to the landing, but stopped at the first step. He turned and held her for just a moment. "I'm very glad you're here. And I'm glad I saved it." He kissed her lightly, gently, and then walked before her up the stairs.
Maudsley watched the lights downstairs as they flickered out, and the light upstairs go on. Yes, someone was very close to Harry Pearce.
He had thought he could do it, just take the money and shut up. In the two weeks since the fire, all his debts erased, finally some peace in his family, in his life. They were only seven men, after all. And they were bad men to boot.
All he had to do was let the report come out tomorrow and keep his mouth shut. And live with it for the rest of his financially secure life. Well, he couldn't live with it.
Maudsley turned, thinking he heard a noise. The watcher being watched? He knew it would be dangerous to try to contact Harry Pearce. He moved further into the shadows. But now he had his way to Pearce. He would go home and read Ruth Evershed's file, and tomorrow, before the report came out, he would find a way to her.
Ruth stepped to the top of the stairs and looked at Harry, who inclined his head to the right. She went down the hall to the end and walked through the open door of Harry's bedroom.
Her first thought was that she had been wrong in what she had expected. Why she had assumed it would be dark, she didn't know, but she thought it might have had something to do with his office, so shadowed and red in its tones. This room was light, very masculine, but lovely at the same time. A room she could live in as well.
She was reminded again of Harry's dual nature. If he was a different man at home than he was on the Grid, and she very well knew this to be true, then the lightness made perfect sense.
Of course, the king sized bed was the focal point of the room, but the room itself was large enough to comfortably have two side chairs at the end of the bed, facing a small fireplace, with a small round oak table between them. The walls and ceilings were white and beige, except for a dark butterscotch-hued panel the size of the bed and just behind it, that ran to the ceiling from the top of the oak headboard. The chairs were the same colour as the panel, as were various pillows on the bed, mixed in with cream and beige.
Two large windows that mimicked the ones in the lounge below, with their ceiling to floor curtains, white sheer under a lighter hue of the dark butterscotch, made the room seem even larger. And a window seat, with more pillows, where Ruth could imagine herself curling up with a good book.
A long, low bureau held a picture in a frame that Ruth recognised as Catherine, and another of a young man, perhaps eleven, in cricket whites that she assumed to be Graham. Those were the only two photos in the room. The rest of the bureau held small sculptures, a bronze horse among them, and a trio of candles.
It was elegant, but lived in, and the view beyond the door into the large dressing room and bath revealed the dark wood Ruth had first expected, floor to ceiling, but the ceiling itself was whimsical, blue sky painted with what looked to be cherubs at the edges, a sort of wonderful miniature Sistine Chapel.
Harry watched her take this all in silently. She turned to him and smiled, and then walked toward him. "You are a man of many surprises, Harry."
He put his arms out and held her. "Not what you expected, I take it? I'll admit to having a designer, Ruth, it was easier. But I like it very much." He pulled away and kissed her softly. "Not that anyone's ever seen it, of course. I just pad about here with Scarlet, wondering why I paid so much for it." Harry looked into Ruth's eyes. "Now I'm glad I did, if you like it."
Ruth leant up and kissed him again. He was an enigma and yet not. Surprising and yet still completely Harry. The analyst in her wanted to understand who this man was, and the woman in her felt she would enjoy spending a lifetime doing it.
Harry showed Ruth the rest of the house, and they went down to tidy up the Chinese, got their bags and brought them upstairs. They bathed together in the steam in Harry's large glass-block shower, and then made love, gently, sweetly in his butterscotch bedroom. Ruth fell asleep quickly, curled against Harry, warm and safe. He followed soon after, feeling that he had never liked his bedroom quite as much as he did tonight.
But in the months to come, every night, Harry would get into this bed alone. He would watch Scarlet settle herself into her bed on the floor, and then watch as Phoebe and Fidget made their endless circles and found their spots to sleep on Ruth's side of the bed. But Ruth wouldn't be there.
For eighty-seven nights, before he finally slept next to his beloved Ruth again, the thought would always be on his mind that if he had known, if he had been able to look into the future, he never would have fallen asleep on that last night with her, the night he thought was only the beginning.
If Harry had known, he would have laid awake, feeling the softness of her skin, hearing her gentle breath, and whispering "I love you," until the sun rose.
~~~~~
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Harry woke to the sound of his mobile buzzing, this time the reminder alarm. Thank God he had thought to do that before the week-end, to remind him of his meeting with the Home Secretary at 8:30 a.m. It was now 7:30 and he was behind on his day before he even started.
He turned and saw her lovely brown hair, tousled and tangled from making love right after their shower. When he parted the hair, he found her face, angelic, still asleep, lips in almost a kiss. He couldn't resist, so he kissed them, softly, and then nuzzled into her neck, smelling his own soap, suddenly so feminine on her skin.
"Mmmmm," she murmured, clearly not quite ready to face the day. He moved his hand down from her shoulder to her hip, and then back up over her breast, her skin so warm, so soft. He held it there, finding another way to wake her up. "Mmmmm, Harry." Now her eyes opened, and he thought with wonder that they were already full of love for him. "We're not in Bath any longer, are we?"
Harry laughed softly. "No, you're in my bedroom, and I can't tell you how wonderful it is to find you here." He took her in his arms, and they moved together in a full-length hug. Harry smiled as he felt himself begin to respond. "Christ, will there ever be a time that I don't want you?"
Ruth pressed against him, her voice still sleepy. "I hope not." She put her lips by his ear. "Do we have time?"
Harry exhaled into a sigh. "No. Unless you want to call the Home Secretary and tell him why I'm late."
Ruth didn't hesitate. "His number, please, Harry." She nuzzled into his neck, kissing him.
Harry laughed and kissed her quickly again before forcing himself out of bed. "Tonight, my Ruth. There is always tonight." Ruth smiled as she watched Harry walk to his closets, unselfconsciously wearing not a stitch of clothing.
Now she was beginning to wake up a little. "I have to go home sometime, Harry. I have cats."
Before Harry could think of what he was saying, he said, "Just go get them and come back here. I rather like cats. I'll adopt them."
Now Ruth sat up, watching him as he began to dress. "What are you saying, Harry?"
He stopped. Socks, boxers and white shirt open. Harry looked at her. He was obviously playing back what he had just said and was wondering the same thing. "What am I saying?"
Harry started to button his shirt as he spoke, but he was clearly still thinking it through. "I'm saying I want you here as much as possible, that I have loved the last four days and don't want them to end." He found his cufflinks in a box on his shelf. "And, I think I need to take a breath here, because we should probably at least get back to work for a day or so before I put your name on the box out front." Harry took a deep breath and smiled at Ruth, his eyebrows raised, looking for confirmation.
Ruth exhaled after realising she hadn't breathed properly since he began talking. "Yes, Harry, that's what you're saying." She swung her legs over to the floor and sat up, reaching over and picking up Harry's shirt from yesterday off the window seat, and putting it on. She stood up and buttoned his shirt, turning to look at him.
He just stared across at her, letting out a sigh at the same time. "You look adorable, Ruth." He pulled on his trousers, still looking at her. "No, you need to go home. I'll never make it to work if you keep doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Wearing my shirt so bloody well."
She came up behind him and whispered in his ear as she began to tuck his shirt into his trousers. "Shall I take it off?"
Harry took her arms tightly around his waist. He held her there, and stood quietly for a moment before speaking, as if it was easier to think without looking at her. He had just had what is commonly known as déjà vu. This moment, with Ruth's arms around him, standing and looking at his rumpled bed and the windows beyond. Harry's voice was soft, and he wasn't playing anymore.
"Ruth, I have to tell you how surprisingly easy it is to have you here, in my house, in my bedroom, and in my shirt. And not to repeat myself, my love, but reality continues to prove that dream of mine true. If it follows as it has done, you will need to be here with me."
Harry opened Ruth's arms and turned to face her. "I want to give you something. You'll need it today anyway, because you clearly are not going to be ready to leave when I am, and I must go." He said these last words as if he were trying to convince both of them. Harry walked over to the burl wood box that had just held his cufflinks and pulled out a key. He held it up in front of her.
"This is not the key to my heart, dear Ruth, but it might as well be. The code to the alarm is 9-3-2-8. I won't bore you with the details, but it's a numerical equivalent of your name, and has been for a long time. Please set it when you go, and remember it, because you'll need it again." He pulled her close to him, and Ruth could feel his heart. It was beating just as fast as it had when he held her in Bath, just before they made love.
And now Ruth realised what a leap he was making for her. His armour down, he was opening his heart and his life to her in a way that seemed to baffle him, almost as if he were caught up in the current of a river that was taking him to places unknown. She remembered a morning not long ago, when she had asked aloud, What do you do when your dreams come true? She was aware that in Harry's case, it was becoming a literal question.
She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. She put the key he had just given her over her heart in her cupped hand. She could hardly think what to say, but the words came before she had time to think. "You're safe with me, Harry." She knew what she meant by that, but thought she needed to say more. "And it doesn't all have to happen now." She leant up and kissed him, softly. "We can talk about it tonight if you want, but let's do it at my house. I'll make you dinner, and you can spend the night with me, in my bed."
Harry held her close again and said, "Yes. Tonight. And we'll talk, Ruth."
Ruth's hand moved up to his cheek, and she pulled away. She looked up to where her hand was, and said, "No shave? I was looking forward to watching you."
Harry looked at his watch, "Oh, Christ, later and later. You'll have to make do with the electric kind, and so will I. Loathe it, but no time." He kissed the tip of her nose and made his way to the bathroom. Ruth perched on the chair in the dressing room and watched him as he ran the electric razor across his face, brushed his teeth and his hair, and took a final look before coming back out to her. She was smiling like an idiot again, she knew, but she couldn't help it.
There he was. Harry Pearce. The man she had loved for so long. She was in his bedroom, wearing nothing but his shirt. And she was blissfully happy.
"You'll need a tie, Harry." She stood and went to his closet. As her hands moved through the layers of silk, she could remember most of them. Ruth loved men's ties. Bound to dark or grey suits every day, Harry expressed his individuality with that one strip of silk. She saw the reds, the purples, the blues, and her mind travelled through days and years of sitting with him in meetings, or him leaning over her desk. As she had thought of kissing him in those moments, she also thought of touching the silk there at his chest, wondering how he chose each day, whether it was to fit his mood, or just random.
Today, she would choose for him. She saw the black and purple one, thickly striped, and she thought of her Harry and the Harry of the Grid. Two distinct men, two distinct colours. One bright, the other subdued. And she liked the idea that she would watch him today knowing that she had chosen this tie for him. It would remind her of this lovely morning.
She pulled it from the peg on the rack, liking the sound it made, the soft hush of silk against silk. Turning to Harry, she buttoned his top button, flipped up his collar, and looped it around his neck. Harry stood passive, gazing into her eyes with so much love she could actually feel its warmth on her skin.
"Don't look at me, Harry, I haven't even washed my face yet. I must be a sight."
"You're exquisite. You look like a woman who's repeatedly been made love to."
She let herself glance up to him quickly while she worked, and gave him a smile, before going back to her task. The final loop, then through and tighten. She folded his collar down over the tie, tilted her head and stood back a bit to inspect her work.
Harry raised his chin and looked in the mirror, then he looked back at her, narrowing his eyes. "I won't ask you how you got to be so good at doing that."
Ruth tried to look innocent. "Probably best."
He put his arms around her. "Whoever he was, Ruth, he let you go, and that makes him a bloody idiot. Can't very well be jealous of a bloody idiot, now can I?"
Ruth laughed. "I used to tie my father's tie for him when I was little, Harry. He couldn't do it to save his own life."
Harry held her tighter. "Well, it doesn't matter, because I've got you now, and I'm not letting go." He looked at his watch over her shoulder. "Christ, I'm late." He moved to get his shoes from the closet.
Ruth smiled at him, "Well, so much for constancy."
He turned and looked at her, his eyes soft. "I can only hope there will come a time that I will be able to leave you without feeling it's torture, Ruth. Because at this moment, the Home Secretary can go to sodding hell for all I care."
"Go, Harry. Go do your job. I'll see you later on the Grid. We'll sneak looks at each other, and all will be as it's always been." She walked over to him and kissed him, gently on the cheek. "We have lots of time, Harry. I'm not going anywhere."
Something tightened in Harry's heart when Ruth said that, and he would remember it later. At the time he thought it was just hard to leave her, but later, he would know that his psychic powers were set on high at that moment. He reached for his coat and his keys, and kissed her quickly.
"You'll be okay? I can't give you a lift, but there's a tube station just two blocks away. You're all right?"
"Harry. I'm a full-grown adult. I get myself to work every day. I'll be fine. And I know where the tube station is."
Harry peered out the windows, frowning. "It looks like rain. There are umbrellas in the stand at the door. Take one, just in case."
Ruth laughed. "I have my own. And I won't melt in a little rain. Cripes, Harry, how have I functioned every day without you to worry about me?" She patted him on the back, pushing him out the door. "Now go to your meeting, and play nice." Ruth followed him to the top of the stairs, and leant on the railing, watching him.
As he went down the stairs, he turned and said, "Oh, and I'm stopping at Adam's after my meeting to get Scarlet. I'll bring her back here before I come to the Grid." He smiled at her, and added softly, "Just so you know where I am."
The way he said it so touched Ruth that she felt the sting of tears start behind her eyes. They were both so hungry for this connection, to have someone to worry about, someone to worry about them. Her voice was soft, full of love. "Thanks, Harry."
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back up at her. He thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. Her bare legs, her lovely dishevelled hair, his wrinkled shirt and what he knew was underneath it, and her radiant smile. Another time he needed the spook's camera, he thought. So many moments he wanted to freeze in time.
"I love you, Ruth."
"I love you too, Harry. I'll see you later."
Maudsley watched from a distance as the front door opened, and then the garage. It was Pearce, but he was alone. Perfect. That meant that she was still inside.
When she did come out, he would pass her the tenner and would not let her give him change. Her file had been very helpful. He knew her now, and she wouldn't let it rest. She's a spook, and spooks follow clues. All he would have to do is look at her, crook his finger, raise an eyebrow, and she would know.
She would follow him, and he would lead her to his home, where he would point to the picture of Offa, King of Mercia that he had placed on the outside of his building early this morning. A bit dramatic, a bit cloak-and-dagger, but she would like that, wouldn't she?
She would know where to go. She would find the microfiche, and the information would get to Harry Pearce. No one would be the wiser, and Mik could live out the rest of his days in peace, at least knowing that he had done right by England in the end.
Now all he had to do was wait.
Ruth set the alarm and closed and locked the door behind her. The key had already found a place on her ring, and she looked at it again, smiling, before dropping it in her purse.
It was definitely raining, and as Ruth opened her umbrella, she was wondering if she should have been a little less stubborn and taken one of Harry's from the stand by the door. Hers had seen better days, and instead of forcing the rain to fall off of it, its slack metal allowed it to pool in puddles on the surface. She would get soaked, but as she had told Harry, she wouldn't melt.
She came down the steps and began her two-block walk to the tube station. Actually, it became more like a run, as she really was getting drenched. When she got to the blessed cover of the station, she went straight to the ticket machine and got her wallet out. A tall man in a wool cap stood to her left, trying to put a ten-pound note into the machine. Ruth was struggling to get her own money sorted when he spoke to her.
"Scuse me. Got any change? It's not taking notes."
"Uh, hang on." Ruth never minded doing this sort of thing. It sort of made her think it would help others be nicer, just in case she needed help someday. But, cripes, she was wet, her gloves were soaked, and her hands simply weren't working very well. She fumbled in her wallet, opening the change purse. She thought she had ten pounds worth of change, but wasn't sure. Juggling her umbrella, she tried to count from one hand to the other. "No … nearly … not quite."
He took what she had, gave her the note, and he suddenly turned to the machine, saying, "That'll do." He put his money in and got his ticket.
She was so close, just looking for another 50p. Ruth put the note in her mouth so she had both hands to work with. She called after him. "No, no, no! I've got … I've got some more somewhere."
He turned toward the trains, calling back to her, "Don't worry."
There! Finally, she found it, and looked up. "No, no, here we are." She got her ticket. He was on his way through the turnstile now. She called after him. "Scuse me!" Now he was on his way to the trains. Ruth yelled after him, following him, "Hello?"
She walked out on to the platform. It was crowded, but she could see him a little way down, standing in the front. He was so tall, and the wool cap made him easy to find. She ran a bit, because she could hear that the train was coming, and she wanted to be sure to get his money to him. It wouldn't do, now that Ruth had found the money, to come out ahead on the trade. It was important for things to be fair, after all.
There was a space just behind him, and Ruth moved into it. He didn't turn round, so she touched his jacket to get his attention. "Scuse me. Your change!" She was almost yelling now over the sound of the train as it sped through the station.
Finally, he turned and looked at her. He had a sort of nice face, in a distracted way, Ruth thought. Now they could get on with it, she could give him his change, and then she could board the train, pull out her worn copy of "Mansfield Park," and see if it was at all possible to dry her hair before she got to work.
But he didn't take the change. He turned again toward the train. And now he didn't look so much distracted as frightened, Ruth thought. It was in his eyes. As if he had wanted to tell her something. As if she weren't just anyone who had change, but the someone he needed to tell something to.
And suddenly, she heard a stomach-turning sound, a thump, and he was no longer there. Only the train, speeding by, in front of her. And the screech of the brakes . And disbelief.
Ruth wondered if anything had really happened at all. Had she talked to him? Had he been real? Her mind was unable to process what had just happened, and the world turned into a series of separate vignettes as she stood there. The metallic sound of the train stopping. A siren blaring, echoing through the cavernous space. A woman to her right, mouth open wide, screaming not with a voice, but with the sound of the brakes and the siren. The horrified looks of people on the platform. And still, Ruth couldn't move.
She frowned, and thought she must be in some sort of shock, because otherwise, wouldn't she be screaming, just like the blonde woman? Wouldn't she need to be more connected to what she was seeing, with what had just happened? She could still hear his voice in her head. Still feel the pressure of his back on her hand as she touched him.
For a moment she thought, Maybe he's still alive. Maybe he fell between the rails, and after the train passed he would stand up with his wool cap in place and put his hand out to take her change. Then she could get on the train, and get on with her life. But Ruth knew he no longer existed. She knew it down under her skin.
It was too loud. She needed to get away from the noise, so Ruth walked back the way she came, back the way he had come, retracing their path, the path he would never walk again. She felt strangely joined to him, as if he had transferred something to her in that tunnel. Some essence. His life. She was the one left behind, and just like that, his life had blinked out.
Ruth found herself outside, and it had stopped raining. She watched the paramedics in their yellow jackets as they rolled the cart into the station, and then she looked at her gloved hand with the change still in it. The change that belonged to him. The change she would never give him. And she opened her wallet and dropped it in.
There was no question what she would do next. There was only one person she wanted to see or talk to. She needed to touch him, to have him hold her, to know that in that split second the whole world hadn't turned upside down, that they still existed even if the man in the wool cap no longer did.
Ruth reached into her purse and took out her mobile, pressing the one button that would bring her peace. And there was his voice, low, soothing, a question in it, but open, full of love. "Ruth?"
"Harry." She calmed just a bit, just hearing him. "Where are you?"
"Just dropping Scarlet home, why?" He could hear what was in her voice. "What's happened, Ruth?"
He could tell she was walking now, could hear her breath coming fast. "I'm walking toward your house from the tube station, Harry. Can you pick me up, please? Something's happened."
What he heard in her voice was frightening him. Suddenly he wanted very much to see her, to know that she was all right. "I'm leaving now. Are you hurt?"
"No. I'm not hurt. Please hurry." She didn't need to ask twice.
"I'm getting in the car. Stay on the line until I see you, Ruth. Don't hang up. I'm driving now." Now he heard the sirens, saw the police cars, uniforms, people running. One block, then two. He needed to hear her again. "Ruth? You're all right, you're sure you're not hurt?" And then he saw her, wet, bedraggled, holding the phone to her ear, a haunted look on her face. Harry pulled over, stopped the car and stepped out. She walked into his arms and began to cry.
~~~~~
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