Tuesday November 1st 2011 – 4.15 pm

Woodbridge, Suffolk, UK

He couldn't decide which would be the better option – to knock himself out quickly with a full bottle of the 18 year old Talisker Scotch whisky, or to drown himself slowly with a half dozen of the Grant Burge Australian Merlot.

In the end, he decided on both. It was his birthday after all, and at 58 years and very single, he was not exactly saving himself for anyone. If hotel management knocked on his door in the morning, and found him dead from alcoholic poisoning, or even a stroke or a heart attack, there would perhaps be only his daughter to mourn him, and he wasn't even certain about that. All he knew was that since the Gavrik family had arrived in London, nothing in his life had been the same, and likely never would again.

He paid for the wine and whisky with a credit card, arranged for it to be delivered to his hotel after 6.30 pm, and then turned to leave the off licence. He was still attempting to slip his wallet into his inside jacket pocket when he stepped through the doorway, and ran into a customer on their way in. He felt the thud of the person's shoulder against his ribs, and then the softness of a breast against his upper arm, and before he'd even lifted his eyes to look, he knew who it was. Much later that evening, while he was preparing for bed, he was to admit to himself that it was the familiar smell of her in his nostrils which spoke to him in that moment they'd collided in the doorway to the off licence. He felt her hand grasp his arm as she steadied herself, and he'd mumbled an apology even before his eyes lifted to meet hers.

"Harry," she said, and as he looked into those eyes, he also saw her confusion in the creasing of the skin between her eyebrows.

"Ruth …... I'm …... sorry, I almost knocked you over. It's …..." And he didn't know where to go from there.

It was so good to see her.

It was also rather painful to again look into her eyes, the same eyes which had judged him so harshly when he'd been conflicted by his feelings towards Elena Gavrik.

It was altogether too hard to be faced with her – and all they'd never had a chance to say to one another – and of all days, on his birthday.

"Harry," she said again, and this time her voice was sharp, and she was pulling him through the doorway, as people were trying to squeeze past them to gain entry to the off licence. She turned and looked around her. "There's a pub on the corner, just down the end of this street."

"The Anchor. I know it."

"Can you meet me there in fifteen minutes?"

Harry nodded and then stood on the street and watched as Ruth disappeared into the off licence. Had that just happened? He often had conversations with Ruth, but they usually took place inside his head, and mostly after he'd woken of a morning and was still lying under the duvet, contemplating the day ahead, another day when he'd not see her. He'd been counting the days, and it had been forty-one days since he had last seen her. At the time, he had believed she'd go away for a couple of weeks, and then return to London to take up Towers' job offer. She'd done neither, and nor had she returned his texts and voicemails.

In the end, he'd simply given up. It was clear she'd needed distance from him, and he couldn't blame her. His behaviour at the time Elena and Ilya Gavrik had been in London had surprised even him. He wound his scarf tightly around his neck, pulled his coat around him, and then turned and headed towards the pub on the corner.

The Anchor hotel – 4.47 pm:

Harry sat in a booth at the back of the room, his fingers curled around a glass of Scotch whisky, which he'd barely touched. A part of him was convinced she'd not turn up, but then he looked up to see her bustling across the room towards him, her cheeks flushed from the cold air outside, an apology in her eyes.

"The off licence was so busy," she began in apology.

Harry stood up and away from the booth, taking her coat from her as she removed it, and then placing it on the seat across from them, on top of his own coat, while she slid along the seat so that she was across the corner of the table from him. For a moment he was reminded of their seating arrangement in the meeting room on the Grid.

"What would you like to drink, Ruth?"

"I should be buying. I asked you here."

"White wine?"

"Yes, thank you."

Harry headed off to the bar to order her wine. In his opinion life was too short by far to be spent arguing over whose turn it was to pay for the drinks. When he returned to their booth, he placed the bottle of wine and two glasses on the table, and then settled himself across the corner from her. When he rested his forearms on the table after having poured them each a glass of wine, their fingers almost touched, and neither pulled away to put distance between them. As Harry saw it, that was a very good sign. He looked at Ruth, and she was staring into her glass of wine, as though deciding whether to drink it. It was after she'd taken a decent sized gulp that she looked up at him, and he noticed that her mouth had softened from the one which had spoken those cutting words to him before she'd taken leave. He wanted to ask her when she was coming home, but she was the one to speak first.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking these past few weeks, "she began, "and I was terribly hard on you, and I'm sorry for the way I acted."

When he didn't reply, she continued. "I ….. the things I said were unkind. I wasn't seeing anything through your eyes …... just my own ….. and I was selfish and …."

"And you were hurting too, Ruth. I know that now. In your shoes, I would have been ….."

She nodded. "I couldn't understand how you could still feel something for ….. her … and potentially compromise the whole agreement with Russia because of …... a relationship you'd had with her all those years ago. And then when you told me that Sasha was your son, well …... I just ….. couldn't ..."

"Sasha's not my son," he said quietly, watching her, waiting for her to again give him eye contact, even if only for a second or two. "Elena lied to me ….. for all those years …... and she's dead now."

"I heard she'd died …. that Ilya murdered her."

"Sasha tried to kill me."

That was when Ruth looked at him, her eyes wide. Clearly Sasha's attempt on Harry's life came as news to Ruth.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

He nodded, still holding her eyes ….. those beautiful eyes. "I've been ordered to take leave ….. for a month, which is why I'm here. I had to get out of London …... once I was released from hospital."

"How did he …...?"

"It was on the day Ilya killed Elena. Sasha came at me with a sliver of glass, from a broken window …... and he stabbed me here." On the word, `here', Harry patted his stomach on his left side. "I had a number of stitches, and they kept me in for a few days. The doctor said it was only my being overweight which saved me. He used the term, `middle aged paunch', which I didn't especially appreciate, and I told him so."

Ruth smiled and nodded. "Are you …... alright now?"

"Almost match fit." Harry smiled his lop-sided smile, and looked down into his wine, which he'd barely touched. All he could think about was how badly he wanted to touch her, to feel her skin against his own.

"And you came here to find me …... why, after the things I said to you?"

Harry's eyes darted upwards, his pupils dilated. "I came to Woodbridge because it's close enough to London to get back there if need be, but far enough away to feel like I'm a long way from the city. I had no idea you were here, Ruth. I sent you texts, and tried to ring you. It became clear that you didn't want contact with me, so …..."

As he'd been speaking, he noticed her eyes widening. "You sent me texts …. and …... Harry, I deliberately left my phone back in London. I bought a pay as you go phone, and gave the number to Towers. I asked him to give the number to you …..."

Harry shook his head slowly. "Why didn't you give the number to me directly, Ruth? I thought ….. I thought your leaving meant you were finished with me ….. with the possibility of …..."

"Of us?"

He nodded slowly.

"At the time I left London, I was, and I wanted no more contact with you, but …... Harry, I have something to tell you ….. something I needed to have told you before I left London."

Harry's stomach suddenly dropped, like he'd swallowed a lump of lead. Here it comes, he thought, the brush-off, the `I've met someone else' speech. It took every bit of his considerable self control for him to stay sitting on the bench, although he'd sat up straight, and their hands were no longer close.

"A month or so before the Gavriks arrived in London, I made an offer on a cottage. It's just up the coast from here …. a little over ten miles away ….. on the northern side of Leiston. My offer was accepted, and three weeks ago I moved in. Harry …... when I first saw it ….. when I was shown through it ….. I saw it as ….."

Harry hadn't known that he'd closed his eyes. He was sitting back, eyes closed, waiting for the guillotine to descend on his hopes and dreams of a life spent with Ruth.

"Harry …... what's wrong? Are you alright? I'm trying to tell you something ….. something important."

He opened his eyes, and when he turned to look at her, he saw kindness and softness, and yes, he also saw love. "I'm afraid of what you're about to say, Ruth."

Ruth reached out with her hand, and placed it on the back of his hand. He felt her warmth on his skin, and longed to turn his hand around to grasp hers. "What I'm trying to tell you is that when I made an offer on the cottage, I couldn't see myself living in it ... until I imagined living there ... with you." Ruth dropped her eyes, but then she lifted them to meet his. "There are two bedrooms, but I saw the second bedroom as your office. I thought the main bedroom could be …..."

Without thinking about it, Harry turned his hand under Ruth's so that his fingers laced through hers. Harry found himself smiling down at their joined hands. Of all that he may have expected this day to bring, he hadn't even allowed himself to hope for this.

"Do you remember what day it is today?" he asked her, lifting his face to smile into her eyes.

"It's your birthday. When we ran into one another I was on my way into the off licence to buy your gift. I was planning to send it to you with a note of apology, but I have it here."

Ruth reached into her bag, which lay on the bench beside her, and lifted out a gift wrapped box, and passed it across to him. "Happy birthday, Harry," she said.

He took it from her, and opened it, revealling a bottle of 18 year old Talisker Scotch. He smiled to himself. "Great minds," he said softly, before he leaned across the corner of the table, and kissed Ruth's cheek. He was about to pull away from her, when he felt her hand on his cheek at the same time as she turned her face towards him, and captured his lips with her own. It was their first kiss in a little over five years, and it was sweet and delicate and filled with promise. There was a moment when they each opened their mouths, and their tongues touched, twirled around the other and then retreated. Harry was the first to pull away, but he still held her hand in his. They each smiled into the eyes of the other, and for a long moment no words were spoken. Harry was aware of his own heartbeat, as rapid as a bird's, and the flush across Ruth's cheeks, a sign of her own excitement.

"Would you like to join me for dinner, Ruth?" Harry asked after a while. "The food here is excellent. I hate eating alone, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather be sharing my birthday with than you."

Ruth smiled shyly at him as she nodded. "I was afraid to suggest anything in case you had other plans."

"Like what?"

"I thought you might have been ….. meeting someone."

"I am …... and she's here with me now."

Ruth smiled up at him, and he bathed in the warmth from that smile. "I was afraid I'd have to go home and get on with painting the inside of the cottage," she said.

"You're painting it?"

"Only the inside walls."

"Would you like some help?"

"I would. Do you know of anyone?"

"I'm rather handy with a paint brush."

"You are? I hadn't seen you as a DIY man, Harry."

"I'm good at a lot of things, most of which you have yet to experience."

When he noticed the further flush in Ruth's cheeks, he pulled away a little, and murmured an apology.

"It's alright, Harry. It's just that I'd forgotten ….. how to flirt."

"I think I might have ... gone too far just then."

"No ... you didn't. It's just that it's been ... so long."

"It's been much too long."

"I'd like it were you to help me choose the paint for the two bedrooms …... that is, if you'd like to."

"I'd like that very much."

"After all ... you ... we'll be sleeping in the main bedroom ... together."

Harry thought that if he had his way, they wouldn't be doing much sleeping, but he kept that to himself.

They watched one another for a moment or two before Ruth reached for her glass of wine, and lifted it towards him. "Happy birthday, Harry. May this birthday bring you all that you dream of."

"It already has," he replied quietly, lifting his own glass towards hers as he returned her smile.