I don't want to steal your freedom
First ever attempt at anything like this! I enjoyed writing it although I have no idea if it's any good or even worth carrying on with it. And how hard it is to get a title? The title to this comes from a song I heard on the radio as I was driving to work. Sorry for any mistakes or infringements of etiquette. Oh maybe I should say that it happens before Havensworth. Is this where I say that I own nothing and it's all down to the BBC and Kudos?
Chapter One
" Don't be long sweetie. I'm just about to run you a hot, deep bubble bath. We'll soon have you so relaxed you'll be horizontal!"
If it were true that a face could launch a thousand ships then it was an indisputable fact that Harry Pearce could have, would have sunk them all with no trouble at all as he raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm and disbelief as he asked "Sweetie? Really Ruth sweetie?"
Even in the gloom of her hallway he could see her face flush although whether it was with embarrassment or anger he couldn't tell.
"What is it you want Harry? We didn't expect you back until the week end. Do you want me to come in? It is my rotated days off today and tomorrow. You could have rung."
Suddenly he was very angry with her, with himself, with the unknown man who was in her house, running her a bath and calling her Sweetie!.
He wanted to tell her he needed her on the grid straight away, that night, that she needed to throw the unknown man out of her house and go with him straight away but of course he couldn't do that. There was no valid reason for her to go with him other than his need to see her. So instead he said "Yes. First thing tomorrow morning and don't be late...for any reason."
He could tell that that last barb had found it's mark, when was Ruth ever late for anything? You could set your watch by Ruth Evershed her time keeping was impeccable but he didn't care that he'd hurt her. She'd hurt him.
"Right, right if' that's all Harry I do have company" she said as the sound of someone running up the stairs filtered through the house and seeped out into the hallway. Nodding he couldn't help saying again "Don't be late Ruth." even as she was closing the door in his face.
Walking back to his car, parked three houses up, safely tucked behind a large ungainly Chelsea Tractor he cursed himself for giving into his need to see her. What had he been thinking? He'd only been a way for a week. First at a conference in Reykjavik called by Britain's NATO partners and then in the far north of Scotland for the de-briefing as they picked apart every word that had been spoken, every glance that had been exchanged looking for hidden meanings, hidden messages that in all probability were not even there.
And all the time he played the game of paranoia that was the lot of anyone who was involved in the security of the nation he'd thought about her. Of course he was much too old for her, it was not just a matter of days, weeks, months, years. In many ways Ruth was older than her years, he had a gut feeling that in lots of ways she was more mature than he was, more able to control her emotions than he was. After all he was the one who'd turned up unannounced on her doorstep. He was the one who'd felt the need to see her whilst she'd been quite willing to wait until they were both back on the grid. And any idea that he might have harboured about her missing him had been shattered by the knowledge that she was entertaining some unknown man.
What a stupid, bloody fool he was!
Maybe it was for the best, what right did he have to involve her in his messy, uncontrolled life? And that was just his professional life, his private life was even worse. If he were truly honest with himself he'd never, ever let anyone; man or woman see him for the person he was; not even his wife Jane had been allowed that privilege, or would it have been as he had always supposed not so much a privilege as a curse?
As he flung the carrier bag he'd been hanging onto like grim death the bottles clinked together, mocking him as they signalled their proximity, their togetherness. A togetherness that he could only dream of. The whisky had been a gift from the Home Secretary, a thank you for as he'd put it All your hard work over the past few days Harry. Harry had accepted the bottle with a wry smile; both of them were well aware that what the man was really thanking him for was not loosing his temper with the assembled group all of them with their own agendas, their own axes to grind before they would even get down to business before they would even look at the aims set out in the conference papers. Yes he thought, he needed a bloody big thank you for the way he'd worked the room (what an awful phrase that was) talking to idiots, laughing at their jokes, asking their opinions about things they knew nothing about. And then when the conference proper had started sitting next to the H.S. Keeping his mouth shut as he listened in disbelief to the nonsense being spouted by useless politicians.
And then the de-brief in Scotland! That had been an even bigger test of his temper and tolerance! A man could take only so much back patting and self congratulation! Amongst his own he'd no longer felt the need to keep such a tight hold on his feelings and on a couple of times he'd let his temper get the better of him as he'd been a little too honest with his opinions, a little too forthright with his judgement of the situation and on more than one occasion he'd heard or rather overheard his disgruntled peers moaning about his lack of charity, his inability to live in the moment and just let go a little bit after such a stressful and trying week. This inability seemed to really annoy the idiots that he was forced by circumstance to associate with and one phrase had really stuck in his mind
"When was it do you suppose that Harry Pearce forgot how to enjoy himself? At what point did his insides curl up and die? You would have thought that he'd be only too pleased to take some time out to relax and indulge in a little harmless fun. But no he has to wander around the place like a disapproving maiden aunt! Yeah Gods! The sooner he leaves the better as far as I'm concerned!"
He'd taken the whisky from the Home Secretary; thanking him before he'd commented that he felt it would be better if he made his way back to London and his team. As he'd put it
"We seem to have learnt a lot and I'd like to take some time to get it all straight in my head and then discuss it with my team Home Secretary. I feel that my time would be better spent doing that than here. After all Sir I'm not contributing much am I?"
He'd watched with some amusement as the man in front of him had visibly relaxed assuring him that he would back any decision he made before he'd gone onto insist that he'd arrange for a helicopter to take him down south. And so it was that only a couple of hours later Harry Pearce was flying south away from a group of people who were in truth glad to see the back of him.
He wasn't sure when the notion that he could call on Ruth had entered his head; or when he'd convinced himself that it was a good idea to call on her. They'd spoken a couple of times whilst he'd been in Iceland and she'd picked up on his frustration. It still astounded him how she could pick up on his moods, moods that he did his best to hide from others; oh when he lost it the whole world knew about it and quaked and at the other extreme when he was happy and pleased about an operation going well he was more than happy to share his satisfaction with others, no it was the fact that she could somehow read him so that she knew when he was irritated about small things or elated about a small seemingly insignificant victory, and then to find that she could pick up on his frustration and sooth him from so far away was …...
But then the Home Secretary had brought her to the forefront of his mind as the man had walked him to the helicopter pad. "Harry" he'd said placing a hand on his forearm "I know that this gathering isn't your sort of thing so thank you for your restraint and patience but Harry we all need an outlet for our frustrations and worries you know. Please Harry if you have anyway, anyone who can take a little of the burden from your shoulders let them do it...For all our sakes Harry, for all our sakes".
The words had stayed with him on the flight south, goading and prodding at him. Was he becoming so stuffy, so old, so bitter that he didn't any longer know how to relax and let go just a little bit? Of course he could resort to old, tried and tested methods and go out an pick up a woman, have sex with her and pretend that was all he needed but he'd begun to realise that wasn't what he wanted, needed now. What he needed, desperately wanted, had to have was someone who he could share everything with. Someone who was comfortable enough with him to laugh at him, to tease him, to make him feel normal. Whatever normal was.
He'd sometimes sit on a bench down by the river and watch people as they passed by and just lately he found himself envying the couples who wandered by hand in hand sharing private jokes and glances. Oh the cynic in him told himself that no doubt they argued like cat and dog when they were behind closed doors, that she was a harridan and he was drunk but he still could not throw off the feeling that he was missing something, something precious and wonderful. Something that the young and naïve Harry Pearce had longed for before experience and cynicism had knocked any hope that he'd find such a thing out of him.
And so it was as he sat in the cold unforgiving environment of his procured ride home he formed a crazy plan in his head; he would go and see her. He could pretend that he wanted to talk to her about what had gone on in Iceland, that way he could spend some time with her and if he took a bottle of really good wine with him he could pretend, in his own head at least that they were meeting as friends, that she'd invited him to her house. And by the time he'd reached her house the scene that he played out in his head had become a three act play.
That's why he'd dismissed the driver of the car waiting for him as they landed at a small private airfield on the outskirts of London insisting that he would drive himself. And as he'd driven through the streets of London he'd almost convinced himself of the truth of his self deceit. A deceit reinforced as he'd stopped at an off licence where he'd managed to purchase an extremely fine bottle of white burgundy. Even as he opened her front gate and walked up her short drive he'd not really not known what he intended to do, he was as the younger members of his team would say"Playing it by Ear"
But now he was totally confused, frustrated and at a loss as to what he should do next!