The rain to the wind said,

You push, and I'll pelt.

They so smote the garden bed,

That the flowers actually knelt,

And lay lodged – though not dead.

I know how the flowers felt.

Robert Frost

Endure and persist; this pain will turn to good by and by.

Ovid

Harry was tired and fed up. It had happened again, and he had no idea how to make it right. Affairs of the heart were not his forte, after all. So far in his fifty-six years of life, he had almost single-handedly destroyed every relationship he'd had with any woman he'd valued. He stood at the balustrade on the roof of Thames House until his nose almost froze, and his heart had numbed, but most importantly, he stayed on the roof alone until he'd mentally formed a strategy. He was no longer prepared for what was between them to continue to lie unacknowledged. It was too important to him, and potentially too important to them both.

He took his phone from his coat pocket, and dialled a number. When the recipient answered, he made brief small talk, and then asked that person for another number.

"I'm not sure I should," said the person at the other end of the phone.

"What's the worst that can happen?"

"I can't even imagine. Murder?"

"You have no faith in me at all, do you?" he said.

"Not a lot, but here's her number. Don't tell her I gave it to you."

Then he dialled the number he was given, made more small talk, and asked this person to not hang up on him. He then arranged to meet her early the following evening.

"Just coffee and a talk," he said, feeling ridiculous …... and desperate.

"As long as that's all," she said. "No histrionics. No dredging up the past."

"I need your help."

"Christ," she said, laughing huskily, "you must be in a bad way."

The next evening he left work early and instructed his driver to drop him off outside the café just a few blocks from where she lived. He was five minutes early, but she was already there, seated at a table by the wall, facing the doorway, facing him. The years had not dulled her beauty; she was still a striking woman. It's just that the sight of her no longer made his heart race, as it had all those years ago. Too much had happened between them. Too many words had been said which could never be unsaid. He regretted most of what he had said, but he was almost certain she'd meant every one of her words – flung at him laced with her hurt and her rage as he'd left for the last time, struggling with his two suitcases.

As he approached her, he noticed the way she tipped her head to the side, as if assessing him. Even as a twenty-year old she'd done that.

"Hello, Jane," Harry said, as he pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. "Have you ordered anything?"

"Yes, and I've taken the liberty of ordering for you also. Just a latte and a Danish."

Harry rolled his eyes, and looked down at his stomach.

"You need to live a little, Harry," she said, smiling.

"I hope you don't mind me picking your brains. I have a dilemma, and I needed to speak with someone who knows me well …... someone who knows my weaknesses and shortcomings."

"I have an encyclopaedic knowledge of those," she said, pursing her lips. "Once known, never forgotten. I often wonder how it is you're still alive, Harry. I thought that if the terrorists didn't get you, then surely some woman with a grudge would have stabbed you while you slept."

Harry smiled, his attempt at staying calm in the face of her scorn. As he saw it, she had every right to despise him. He'd been a poor companion, an absent father to their children, and a terrible husband to Jane.

"I trust you're well," he began.

"I know that you see Catherine, and that she mentions me occasionally, so you are as up-to-date with my life as you need to be."

"There's a woman I work with ….. have for seven years now." He noticed a smirk on Jane's lips, but he soldiered on, determined to not be distracted by her responses, coloured as they were by their shared past. "I asked her to marry me, but she turned me down."

"Is that all?"

"No ….. that's just the beginning, but before I go on, I need to ask you something about me. Do you …... would you say I'm a good listener?"

Harry hadn't expected his ex-wife to throw her head back and laugh aloud, exposing her – remarkably, for her age – smooth neck. She continued sniggering for a minute or so, while Harry patiently waited for her to stop. "Harry," she said at last, "you must remember me screaming at you. I did that out of frustration because you seemed to hear nothing at all I ever said."

He nodded, and sat back while a waitress placed their order in front of them. He tried to empty his mind, to erase his memories of the past. He was finding it difficult to remain composed. His memories of fighting with Jane – about what, he never fully understood – had unlocked the door on the shame he'd buried deeply, too deeply to acknowledge to himself. Jane was right – this was not the time for dredging up the past. He carefully sipped his latte. If he was being honest, he'd rather they'd met at a pub, and that his lips were savouring a single malt – neat, definitely.

"How did you ask her to marry you?"

"It was immediately after the funeral of a colleague, and -"

"You asked the woman you – supposedly – love to marry you after a funeral?"

"Yes. She said I had bad timing, and she turned me down."

"Can't you see, Harry? That was badly timed. No matter how old we get, all women love to be wooed with flowers and dinners."

"We work for MI-5. It's hardly a flowers and dinner kind of place."

"Don't I know it."

"This isn't about us, Jane. I asked you here because we have history, but I don't wish to be rehashing that history. Nothing can be gained by that. I need to ask you something." Harry took a sip of his latte, and broke his Danish in two with his fingers, but then laid both pieces back on the plate. "I've loved Ruth for four years, and we've never …..."

"Never what, Harry? Never argued? Never agreed about anything? Never slept together?" Jane smiled widely at her last question, but her eyes widened when she saw the shock on Harry's face. "You've never slept together? You? Harry Pearce, the man with a teflon zip in his pants? However have you managed that?" Rather than shout across the table at him, her voice had become a hoarse whisper.

He looked up at her and nodded. "I'm no longer that man," he said quietly.

"What is it about this …... Ruth …... that has bowled you over? Because you have been, haven't you?"

He nodded again, and Jane saw a naked longing in Harry's eyes, but this time it wasn't for her, but for this woman – this Ruth.

"You're properly in love this time, aren't you?"

"Yes." The word was barely more than a whisper.

"Catherine said you'd changed. She said that a few years ago you lost someone. Some woman you loved had left the country. What happened to her?"

"She came back."

Jane busied herself with her Danish pastry, breaking it into small pieces. She ate two mouthfuls, and swallowed some of her short black coffee before she again looked at Harry.

"So, Harry. What is it Ruth has said that you don't understand? Because this is why you're here, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"You must understand by now that when we say no, we often mean yes."

"That's some of what I don't understand. We – she and I – were talking last night, and she tried explaining to me why it was she'd said no to my proposal. She said that had she said yes it would have been a lie. I just don't understand that."

"Why not?"

"Because I also know that she loves me."

"Has she told you she loves you?"

"Not exactly, but neither have I said it to her. We don't communicate in that way. We do far better than we say. We work together in very close proximity. She's my senior intelligence analyst, and she's brilliant. Last night she said to me – and these were her words – that we couldn't be more together than we were right then. I don't understand why it is our working relationship is enough for her. It's not enough for me."

Jane again sipped her coffee, and took ate another bite of her Danish. "Mmm, I love blueberry Danish. You haven't eaten yours, Harry."

"It's too sweet for me. You can have mine as well, if you like."

Jane took her time, chewing and swallowing, and then wiping her mouth with her napkin. She then sat back in her chair, and looked across the table at her ex-husband. He was showing his age, but that probably had more to do with the hours he kept, the decent meals he'd denied himself, and the copious amounts of coffee and whiskey he took in. There was a sadness about him that she hadn't seen when she'd known him. He'd always been arrogant. He'd had a way of always being right. They'd settled their arguments by having sex, and he'd been rather good at that. It's just that they'd endured too many arguments which had never been adequately resolved, and so resentment had germinated, and then grown, and thrived. For her, the resentment she'd borne towards Harry had withered, and was now little more than occasional mild irritation. Had it not, she'd not have been able to sit across the table from him.

"Has …... has Ruth had a lot of men in her life? Has she had a lot of boyfriends? Has she been married?"

"No to all those questions. She's younger than me -"

"I gathered that. Catherine intimated that the woman who had had to leave the country was quite a lot younger than you."

"There's an almost seventeen year age difference."

"Good God, Harry. She's not a lot older than your own daughter."

"She's ten years older than Catherine. She's wise and clever, and compassionate and kind. I've never known anyone like her."

"And you scare her."

"What?"

"You scare her, Harry, or more accurately, the prospect of intimacy with you scares her."

Harry sat watching, waiting for the next bombshell. He'd been after advice, not insults.

"What you've told me is that you're quite a lot older than she is, and that you're her boss. What I already know about you is that on your good days you're powerful and charismatic. No self-respecting woman wants a man to be dominating her in her private life. She's happy with your working relationship because she has a certain level of autonomy …... and power. You said yourself she's your senior analyst, and she's good at what she does, so she's the best in her field in your workplace, but you're still the orchestra leader. She doesn't want that dynamic to spill over into your private life. No woman would."

"So what you're saying is that she's protecting herself from me."

"Somewhat, but this needn't be the end of the road for you. Have you tried seduction? I seem to remember you used to be rather good at it."

"I can't even get her to come out with me. Besides, we never seem to have the time."

"I don't know your Ruth, so I can only make a supposition, but I suspect she'd like to be with you in a non-work-related environment. Let her see how you are away from work, and don't for God's sake talk about work when you're out together. When was the last time you tried asking her out?"

Harry sighed heavily, realising that Jane had hit on something fundamental that he'd missed. How could he have been so obtuse?

"It was four years ago."

"Christ, Harry! I'm not surprised she won't marry you. Get her away from the Grid. Among other things, it's a passion killer. Take her for a drink. Make subtle moves. Don't scare her. And don't take her words literally. Most of us don't mean 80% of what we say whenever a man is trying to pin us down. Men always want straight answers, but you need to know that woman rarely give them. It's how we maintain our allure."

"Thank you. You've given me a lot to think about."

"Stop thinking, Harry, and do. Do something, but don't waste your time talking to me. You were an awful husband to me, but you did have potential. Now it's time you tried being a good husband to someone. I'm sure you care enough about your Ruth to be able to manage that. Just one last piece of advice from me. I suggest that you don't take your pants off too soon. Make her beg you to take her to bed. Women rather like that. It tells them that men want them for more than their bodies."

Jane began gathering her things – her phone, her reading glasses, her leather gloves, her bag – and she turned to Harry one last time before she stood up.

"Let me know how you go, Harry. I am interested, and your daughter has told me on more than one occasion that she'd like to see you happy." She stood up, walked to Harry's side, and dropped a quick kiss on his temple. "You'll settle the bill, won't you? Bye."

And she was gone, and Harry was still not sure what she had told him. Most of their conversation had made little sense to him. Women were almost a different species altogether, but he was determined this time to not allow Ruth to elude him. All in all, he was glad he'd rung Catherine to ask her for her mother's phone number.

The next day was Saturday, and by the time Harry was ready to call it a day, Ruth was the only senior member of staff left on the Grid. Why was this so often the case? If she didn't want to be with him, then why was she still there?

"You've done enough for one day, Ruth," he said, when she brought her risk assessments into his office, and sat on the chair he indicated with his hand. "Will you have a drink with me?"

"What – now?"

"I wasn't thinking about next week. And I don't mean here, either."

Ruth sat back and stared over his shoulder for several seconds. To Harry, each second represented an ice age. He held his breath until her eyes again focused on him.

"I'd like that. As we speak, Beth is moving into my flat, and I'm reluctant to go home any time soon."

"I'm sorry about that, Ruth. Lucas told me after he'd informed you. I was against it from the start. Hopefully it will be just a temporary measure."

"Hopefully."

By the time Harry drove out of the Thames House underground car park with Ruth in the passenger seat beside him, his face was set in a smile, and he contemplated driving south until they reached the coast. Then he'd suggest a hotel or a B&B, and the rest would be down to chance and good fortune. He was thinking about how he didn't want to take Ruth to a pub or a wine bar, but he'd rather she came back to his house, when she spoke.

"Harry," she said, as they were stopped at the lights, waiting for them to turn green, "I ….. I don't especially wish to be seen out with you. Don't take that the wrong way …... I'm not ashamed of being seen with you – quite the opposite – but I don't wish this to be seen as a date. Do you think that we could …... have our drink at your place? If that's alright with you."

If it's alright with me?

"That …... is what I've been thinking, Ruth, if you're comfortable with that."

"Oh, I'm comfortable alright. After all, we're just a couple of close friends celebrating the end of a another stressful week."

He nodded, as he guided the car through the early Saturday evening traffic. Close friends? Lie or truth?

"And," Ruth continued, "you did save thousands of lives this week."

"So you've said." He took a deep breath before he continued speaking. "So, Ruth, not all my choices have been poor ones."

"Hardly any. Sometimes I say things, and they come out all wrong. You must have noticed that by now."

He had. Jane was right, after all. Clever woman.

Forty-five minutes later, they were inside Harry's house, sitting at his kitchen table, with a takeaway Indian meal between them on the table. Harry had just removed the cap from a bottle of Italian light red, and he was pouring them each a glass.

"This is nice," Ruth said.

"It is."

Harry watched her as she tucked into her Chicken Tikka with naan bread. To his eyes, she looked wonderful – relaxed, her cheeks flushed with the wine she'd drunk, her face and hands animated as she told him some story about her cat hiding under her bed when Beth had arrived at the flat with the first of her belongings.

Harry dropped his eyes as soon as she looked at him. He hadn't wanted her to notice how closely he was watching her – checking her out. He smiled as he scooped another mouthful of Lamb Masala into his mouth, and then topped up their wine glasses. He could barely look at her, for fear she'd read the joy in his eyes.

He and Ruth Evershed were alone in his house on this not-a-date, and she was still here, enjoying his company. She had not run, she had not made her excuses and left early. He hadn't had to tie her up or drug her. So far, it was the perfect night.