London - late September 2012:
How many of her decisions emerge from her inherent curiosity? Were Ruth being honest with herself, probably most are, but there are also those which are triggered by fear. So, which is this? she asks herself, as she pushes through the doorway and into the café, standing just inside the door while she glances around the room. She sees him before he sees her, giving her a brief moment to indulge in watching him unseen.
He no longer wears a suit. She had always preferred him in casual clothes, and he doesn't disappoint. Casual slacks, open-necked dark shirt, and a lightweight jacket form his new uniform. His hair is cut short, perhaps a little greyer than last time they'd met. He looks good, very good. Perhaps he's met someone. Just that one thought triggers a sharp sting of jealousy deep inside her, equal parts unexpected and surprising.
Ruth pushes that feeling away, walking determinedly towards the table where he sits staring through the window at the street outside, his forehead puckered in concentration. "Hello, Harry," she says quietly, standing across the table from him.
It is when he turns to look at her that she knows why she came. The memory of his eyes, darkly warm, have accompanied her throughout her travels. He quickly stands, circling the table to pull out her chair for her. Such chivalry seems out of place in twenty-first century England, but she smiles into his eyes and sits, while he returns to his own chair. Their first meeting in ten months, and they haven't even touched.
"I'm glad you came," he says quietly, fussing with his fork, ensuring it lies parallel to his knife. "I was afraid you'd ..."
She almost had changed her mind. After almost ten months traveling, sitting across this table from Harry is like being shot out of a canon into some alternate reality, like stepping into a parallel life. "Of course I'd come," she says, smiling. It is so very good to see him.
They'd parted amicably, Harry having returned to work, and needing a change of scenery, she'd escaped to France, and thence to Germany, the Netherlands, Hungary, Turkey, with her last stop being Cyprus. Her suggestion that they live together in her cottage in Suffolk had not been revisited, although over the last ten months Ruth had thought of it often, wondering whether her decision to pass it up in favour of traveling had been the right one. Now she's back home and in need of a job, and she's curious about Harry. In that moment she wonders why she'd ever left him, but she doesn't wish to think too hard about that. The answer to that question is always the same.
"I've spoken to the Home Secretary," Harry says, pulling his hands away from the cutlery, before sitting up straight. He appears nervous, but then, so is she. "He assures me your job is still there ... for whenever you want it ... if you want it."
Ruth nods, smiling, and then drops her eyes. Meeting his eyes with hers is so dangerous, like stepping too close to an open fire. "I thought I might teach," she says, dipping her head to one side, a gesture which brings a smile to Harry's lips. "So you've retired," she says brightly, hoping to deflect the conversation from herself.
"Three months ago. It was a sudden decision, but a good one. I should have done it back when .."
There it is. He is alluding to her injury, and her two week stay in hospital, after which she'd gone home and stayed there. When, on her third week home, Harry had visited her after work one evening, she was ready to share with him her plans. He'd appeared on board with her decision, but she'd caught the flicker of hurt in his eyes. She'd almost changed her mind on the spot, but her resolve to put distance between them, even for a month or two, was strong. Two weeks later she'd left London. Harry had come to St Pancras to see her off - a farewelling party of one - kissing her tenderly before she'd boarded. Just the one kiss, reminding Ruth of the last time Harry had kissed her goodbye before she'd left London in a hurry.
"Keep in touch," he'd said, and she had. She'd sent him postcards from almost every city she'd visited, other than Cyprus. She'd sent no postcards from there.
"I'm glad you've .. stopped working," she says, lifting her eyes to his once more.
"You make it sound like an addiction," and she lifts her eyebrows. She couldn't have put it better herself. To break free from the intelligence service must have taken incredible will on his part.
"You said you'd moved out of London, but you didn't say where."
"I sold my house, and moved to Heybridge, near Maldon, in Essex. I'm renting until I settle on somewhere to live."
"Alone?" The question has to be asked.
"Do you mean am I living alone?" Harry's face twists in that lop-sided smile she had so loved. She nods. "Of course I'm alone, Ruth. Did you expect that in less than a year I'd have found love with someone else?"
This time his eyes flare in a brief burst of fire. She'd asked him to leave the service with her, and then once she'd been well enough to travel, she'd left the UK. Put like that, his curt response is warranted.
"Although ..." he continues carefully, again fiddling with his cutlery, turning his knife over and over, "my daughter set me up with the mother of a friend of hers." Again Ruth feels that familiar sting of jealousy. "We had dinner a few times - it was when I was still working - but it ..." He drops his eyes, placing all his concentration on his knife, which he is now tipping from side to side. "It wasn't to be. She's a widow who still loved her husband, and I ... well, I was still ..."
He doesn't finish his sentence. He just lifts his eyes to hers, tipping his head to one side. They both know what he means. "Shall I order?" he says suddenly, surprising Ruth, who has almost forgotten why they are there.
"Order for me, too," she says. "You know my tastes."
When Harry leaves the table to order at the counter, Ruth watches him. She had almost forgotten the delicious indulgence of observing him unseen. His casual clothes are more fitting than his suits had been, and she delights in watching his body move. Once he has ordered, her eyes follow him all the way back to their table. By the time he is seated, she drops her eyes, thus missing his knowing smile.
"I ordered chicken for us both," he says, fiddling with his napkin, and then placing it unfolded on the table. "You can't go wrong with chicken."
Ruth is about to mention salmonella, but decides against it. Harry had suggested they meet for lunch, so she will not be the one to spoil the occasion. A bottle of white wine is brought to their table, and the waiter pours a little in each of their glasses. It's not white burgundy, and for that Ruth is grateful. Their first meal together was six years ago, and so much has happened since then. Their lives are so different now. Harry tastes the wine. "Chablis," Harry says, unnecessarily, since Ruth is capable of reading the label. "You can't go wrong with chablis."
There is so much Ruth wants to ask him, but she barely knows where to begin. Their meals are served, and so they begin to eat. Ruth shares small stories from her travels, while Harry chats about selling his house, his quest to find a country rental, before Ruth inquires about Section D. "Who took over as section head?" she asks.
"Erin. She's perfect for the job."
"And section chief?"
"We had one thrust upon us," Harry replies, his mouth twisting in disgust. "Henry McKenna came to us from Six. Turns out .. the Grid's not big enough for us both."
Ruth smiles. "It's a blessing that you retired."
Harry nods. "It was time."
Ruth focuses her attention on Harry's fingers as he grasps his glass. Strong and neatly manicured, they are capable of squeezing the life out of a man as easily as caressing the tender skin of a lover. When she follows the wine all the way from the glass to Harry's mouth, she shakes her head and looks away. It's high time she tells him the truth.
"When I flew to London earlier this week," she begins, dropping her eyes, "it was from Paphos, Cyprus."
Harry quickly puts down his glass, and sits up straight. "Cyprus? You were on Cyprus? Why?"
Ruth shakes her head. "Curiosity. I wanted to see Nico, and apologise to George's family, and I wanted to see where he ..."
".. was laid to rest," Harry finishes for her, his voice very quiet. "And did you .. do all that?" he adds.
"Some. I spoke to George's sister and brother-in-law, and Christina accompanied me to the cemetery .. to see the grave. They were not happy to see me, but they were polite, and they indulged all but one of my requests."
"Nico?"
"He's away at school. In Nicosia. They wouldn't tell me at which school. I arrived there just as the new school year began, so he'd already left."
"I'm sorry, Ruth."
She sighs heavily. At the time she'd felt sad, and defeated, and had hated herself for drawing George and Nico into her very complicated life, but ... what was done is done, and she must live with her part in it.
"Are you ...?" Harry begins, but then stops, dropping his eyes to his plate.
"Am I what?"
"Are you .. with anyone?"
"Do you mean a partner ... a romantic entanglement?" At the word, entanglement, Harry smiles across the table at her. "No, Harry. I'm single ... as it appears are you."
"My daughter doesn't like me living alone," he says, having finished his meal, pushing his plate to the side, and placing his wine glass in front of him. "I had to remind her that I've lived alone for over twenty years. She's worried I'll fall and hurt myself. I tell her that I'm not infirm, and I'm fine on my own."
Ruth doesn't know if he is dropping hints, but she suspects he is. "And are you .. fine on your own?"
Harry sighs, sitting back in his chair. "Mostly, yes, but there is still a ... hollow in my life where .. someone .. might be."
"And you haven't yet found someone to fill that hollow." Ruth's words are more statement than question. If her instincts serve her correctly, Harry has been waiting for her to come home, and now she's home, what happens next? Does he expect her to be the one to move things along? She's never been skilled at that kind of thing. In fact, she's terrible at it. Were she to even begin to offer to be the `someone' he is looking for, she'd no doubt make a pig's ear of it.
Then she remembers that she and Harry never talk about them. They skirt around the subject, never saying what they mean, perhaps fearing the other does not feel the same way. It is a habit they have with each other, and a ridiculous habit at that. In that moment Ruth wishes she and Harry were more open with one another, rather than forever communicating in code.
She waits, but Harry says nothing more. He is watching her closely, his fingers now fiddling with the stem of his wine glass. "Would you like something more to eat, Ruth?" he says at last, and it is then that Ruth knows he is not about to say anything, at least, not here, in a public place.
"No, thank you, although coffee might be nice."
Again she closely observes Harry as he crosses the room to the counter, her eyes moving up and down his body, taking in everything from his broad shoulders to the muscles in his buttocks. How is it possible for her to have walked away from him twice? The answer to that is easy. The first time she left London it was to save Harry, and the second time it was to save herself. Now she's ready for him, but is he ready for her? She wants Harry to say something more ... personal to her, and she needs him to be the one to raise the subject, to take the risk.
Just as their coffee is brought to their table Harry begins telling her about Calum and Dimitri, but Ruth is only half-listening. She nods in what she hopes is all the right places, and then when she is only half way through her cup of coffee, she chances a look at the clock on the wall behind the counter, and decides that she'd best leave. She's not prepared to stretch out the afternoon, waiting for Harry to suggest they meet again. She needs him to want her .. a lot .. and it is becoming clear to her that he doesn't, and she just can't bear the possibility that he never will. He hadn't even tried to stop her leaving the country after she was stabbed. Perhaps, like her, his suggestion they meet for lunch was motivated by curiosity.
"I have to go," she says, reaching down to grab her bag from beside her chair. "It's been lovely seeing you again. We must -"
"Ruth?" Harry stands, just as she stands, and leaving behind his coffee and the dregs of their meal, he follows her from the café. "Ruth ... what is it?" he asks, once they are on the pavement.
"Thank you for lunch, Harry," she says formally, avoiding his eyes, focusing on his shoulder, "but I must go. I hadn't realised how late it is."
"But it's only just gone two," he says, reaching out with one hand, and then dropping it when she ignores his gesture. "I thought we might .."
Part of her wants to step close to Harry and wrap her arms around him, pressing her nose into his neck, breathing in the essence of him. She longs to wrap herself around him, to take him home with her, to take him to her bed, while another fearful, nervous part needs to put distance between them, and fast. She can't, and she won't stretch out their farewell. She and Harry have already shared far too many goodbyes.
Ruth reaches up to kiss Harry's cheek. It is a quick kiss, but not so quick that she doesn't detect the whiff of his cologne and his musky maleness, his cheek warm and smooth beneath her lips. For a very brief moment in time she hesitates, wondering whether she can ask him to drive her back to her B&B, but that would be too painful for her, being cooped up alone with him in his car.
"It's been lovely seeing you," she says, laying a hand on his arm for just a second. "Please keep in touch, won't you," and then she turns to walk away from him. She hurries to the pedestrian crossing, and crosses with a group of people, soon swallowed by the crowd. She doesn't look back. She imagines Harry watching her, wondering what he's done wrong. If only he knew that it's nothing he'd done; it's what he hasn't done that had upset her.
Ruth hurries through the streets, barely aware of where she's going. She is merely putting one foot in front of the other, following her instincts. It is not until she spies the Thames in the distance that she admits she's headed for the embankment. It is the place where Harry and she walked and talked together, and she needs to visit it one more time before she leaves the inner city.
Ten minutes later she has descended the steps from the street, and is part way along the same path she and Harry had taken so many times, sometimes alone, but more often together. It is then that she stops, for the first time seeing clearly what she's been doing since she'd brought their lunch to an abrupt end.
What have I done?
She'd looked hard for an excuse, and having found one; she's running away again, as surely as she'd stepped on that dirty, noisy tugboat six years ago, and as readily as she'd caught the Eurostar ten months earlier.
When annoyed with, irritated by, fearful for, or disappointed by Harry, Ruth runs away. As she dives into her bag in search of her phone, she wonders if it's possible there's a mathematical formula to explain what it is she does to Harry, and by extension, to herself. Is there some hidden and ancient code which is activated each time she and Harry are together, and if there is, why can't it be transcended, freeing them to follow the desires of their hearts?
She holds her phone to her ear while it rings, and is surprised when it is answered after only two rings.
"Ruth," she hears his voice, deep and authoritative, "please turn around."
Taking her phone from her ear, Ruth does as she's told. Harry is only ten metres or so behind her, standing by the steps. She stays on the spot, unable to move while he pockets his phone before striding towards her, his eyes never leaving hers. People mill around them, a few almost running into her, but to Ruth, the only people on the embankment are the two of them.
It takes only a few seconds for him to reach her, and when he does, he steps close to her, hesitating only briefly before he wraps his arms around her, pulling her against him. Ruth is all out of fight or flight. She presses her nose against his chest and closes her eyes. Through his shirt she feels his heart beating strongly, and perhaps a little quickly. Relaxing against him, she slides her arms around his waist underneath his jacket, grasping the material of his shirt with the fingers of both hands. Never before in her life has anything felt quite this right to her.
"What were you thinking, Ruth?" he says at last, but he doesn't wait for an answer. "Don't you know why it was I suggested we have lunch?" When she shakes her head, he keeps talking, his mouth close to her ear. "I was sure you understood that, with both of us out of the service, this is our time ... a time for us. I thought you knew. I was sure you'd know. For the past three months I've been waiting for you to come home, and when you rang me, I believed you must have wanted the same thing I do." Harry pulls away just a little, forcing her to lift her head, and look into his eyes. Ruth reads the hurt there. "Tell me you don't want the same thing I do."
Ruth shakes her head, and just to clarify, she adds weakly, "I do ... want the same thing you do."
"Then you have a strange way of communicating it."
"I know. I'm so sorry."
"Why did you leave me ... like that?" They both know that he is not only referring to the previous twenty minutes.
"I was waiting for you to say you wanted me to be your someone."
"My someone?"
Ruth nods. "Your someone to fill the hollow in your life."
"But it's always been you, Ruth. No-one else fits me ... quite like you do."
He smiles into her eyes, and suddenly Ruth feels ridiculously happy. He reaches down and gently places his lips on hers, while his hands on her back pull her closer. Ignoring the people around them, the kiss continues. Ruth hums into his mouth, and when her lips part beneath his, he follows her. Their first proper kiss is in full view of the whole London lunchtime crowd, and yet they don't care. No-one watching them could have imagined what they have lived through to reach this moment.
Very reluctantly they pull out of the kiss, grinning at one another, before Harry grasps Ruth's hand, leading her further along the embankment to an empty bench where they sit together, holding hands. "I have an idea," Harry says, leaning closer. "Why don't we drive to your B&B, collect your things, and continue to my country cottage?"
"You're assuming a lot, Mr Pearce."
Harry's smile fades as his expression becomes serious. "Ruth ... I want you with me even more than I want England to win the rugby, but if this is not what you want, then tell me now. I won't be asking you again. I can't take any more ... unnecessary separations. If you want to leave now, then please do, and I'll not bother you again."
Ruth waits, but he says nothing more. "It's what I want," she says, her eyes holding his, trusting that her words will ease the pain she sees there. "It's what I've always wanted," and when Harry's eyebrows lift in disbelief, she adds, "I just didn't know it." Because of her he has been sad and lost, just as she has for so long been lost and afraid. "Please take me home, Harry," she says, and he reaches across to place a quick kiss on her lips.
"Your wish is my command, Ruth," and they stand and walk together towards the steps, her hand grasped in Harry's, while just beyond those steps their new life awaits.