Polis, Cyprus – mid-March 2009:
She is at the market early, given the rain which had fallen overnight, and has been again threatening since dawn. She'd walked into town via the beach, her trainers just breaking the solid crust of sand formed after the rain, revealing the soft dry sand beneath. She has a week off work, and is relieved to have the luxury of a few days to herself.
Ruth loves the market, and given she has lived in Cyprus for over a year now, she knows most of the stall holders, and they know her. Giannis keeps fish especially for her, John and his wife, Katie, have the best breads and cheese, and Helena and her vast family sell the freshest fruits and vegetables. Once she has stocked up for another few days, Katie rushes up to her and hands her an extra loaf of koulouri bread, winking, and patting her own abdomen, clearly rounded with child.
"You wait any longer, your body will be too old. Eat this bread. It always works for me," the younger woman says in perfect English.
Ruth laughs her thanks, and then replies, "It's not the bread that makes the babies."
Katie beams, waving Ruth away with a flick of her wrist.
Ruth's last stop before she leaves is always Stefan's coffee shop. Stefan's wife, Semra, is Turkish, and insists their new customers try her Turkish coffee at least once …... which Ruth had, only days after she moved to Cyprus thirteen months ago. She now has a standing order each time she enters the shop – a medium latte, with a muffin – and the muffin is whatever Semra decides Ruth might like. Today she has chosen a poppyseed muffin for Ruth, who doesn't much care, as all the muffins are delicious and filling.
She always sits at a table by the window, from where she can keep an eye on the entrance to the market, as well as the flow of people to and from the market. Old habits, she thinks, and of course, her thoughts wander to home. Home – as she thinks of it – is still London, and an integral part of her London home is the Grid, MI-5, and of course, Harry. Whenever she thinks of Harry, she remembers their parting kiss, and everything which they'd left unsaid, everything they should have done and hadn't. All because of her ridiculous fear of being gossiped about. From this distance – in time, as well as in miles – her hesitance seems petty, even adolescent. They'd wasted so many opportunities, she and Harry.
She still thinks of him several times a day. During her first year away from Britain, she was in deep grief, having lost everything she valued, including the man she loved. Now …... now she's not sure how she feels. She'd had a few meaningless flings while she was in Italy, and then Greece, and since she's been in Cyprus, there's only been George, and she's keeping him at arm's length, as he is not the kind of man to be satisfied by a fling. They've been out to dinner four times, and he is quite open about his feelings for her, and that he'd like her to consider him as a serious contender for her affections. Those had been his words ….. `Ruth, I would like you to consider me as a serious contender for your affections.' She'd almost laughed, until she noticed the concentrated intensity on his face. She doesn't know what to make of George, so she has asked him to leave her be for the time being, and she'll get back to him. George was much easier to deal with when he was just her friend. Besides, he has a son, and Ruth is hardly ready to take on someone else's child. She is just not ready to be a mother ... not yet, and not with George.
Harry.
He still occupies her thoughts as she's falling asleep, the comforting sound of the water lapping the shore only two hundreds yards away, across the road from her little bungalow. Until she no longer thinks of Harry as she falls asleep, hoping that the day will soon come when she can go home, she cannot consider a relationship with George.
She is in limbo, in more ways that one.
She has just finished her muffin, and is about to finish off her coffee, when through the window she sees a dark-skinned man leaving the market, and heading along the path towards the coffee shop. It can't be. He's in London, surely. As the man gets closer, she notices his designer jeans and his body-hugging, long-sleeved black shirt, showing off his taut body. Is it he? Can it be?
Bloody hell, it is. It's Danny Hunter.
As she watches him ambling along the path, Ruth remembers the memorable day a little over four years ago, when she and Harry had been listening in on the comms, while Fiona Carter and Danny were held hostage by some Iraqi extremists, intent on taking an eye for an eye. Ruth remembers the horror of that day, and the fifteen minutes or so during which they knew one of theirs had been murdered, but they hadn't known whether the victim had been Danny or Fiona. Either way, it was a tragedy. One was a young man without a father, but with a loving mother and grandmother, both of whom depended on him for strength and support. The other was a wife, and a mother of a young boy.
Ruth is still not proud of her response when she'd discovered that Danny had been the one to survive. She'd never talked about it to anyone, not even Harry, and she'd shared many of her private musings with him, and he with her, even back then, before they ever acknowledged that there was `something' between them. Privately, Ruth had been angry with Fiona. She'd left a grieving son and husband, and neither had been the same since her death. In Ruth's estimation, Fiona needed to have made a choice which supported her family, rather working in the field, and dying violently as a result. Adam had been the only one who was allowed to see her body, and the sight of what was left of her head had traumatised him, perhaps for the rest of his life.
Ruth looks up from her musings to see Danny Hunter standing the other side of the window, his mouth open in shock. Of course, Danny believes that I threw myself in the Thames. Ruth gets up from her spot by the window, and leaves the shop. She comes to a stop just short of Danny, his mouth now closed, but his face displaying astonishment.
"I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here," she says, stepping closer. "I could say the same thing about you."
"Jesus …... Ruth!" Danny says, reaching out to grab her by the arms, before he pulls her to him in a bear hug. "I am so glad to see you."
"You'd better let me go, Danny. I can hardly breathe."
"Oh, sorry," he says, pulling away from her, but with a hand still holding one of her arms.
"Are you busy?" she asks, and he shakes his head. "You can help me carry my shopping back to my house."
On the short walk to Ruth's bungalow, they exchange some brief information. Ruth tells him about her leaving of London – leaving out her sad goodbye with Harry – and where she's been in the two years and seven months since she'd had to leave. Danny shares with her the news from the Grid, chiefly the deaths of Adam and Zaf. Ruth had stood still on the beach, where she took a few deep breaths, allowing herself to absorb it without it overwhelming her. Adam's death did not surprise her. He had shown signs of unravelling at the time she'd left London, but Zaf …... Zaf with the cheeky smile, and the confident way with the fairer sex. Zaf should be alive somewhere, stealing hearts. He should not have had to give his life for Queen and country. Ruth then keeps walking, but allows a few tears to fall. She'll cry properly later.
They are in Ruth's small kitchen, sitting over a cup of tea, when Danny tells her why he is in Cyprus.
"I've been doing some intermittent work for Six during the last two years. I thought that …... maybe, just maybe, I might run into …..."
"Zoe?"
"Yeah. Will is back in London. He arrived back not long after you …... left. He had little to say, so I thought I might …..."
"Look for her."
"Any time they need someone to head off to South America, I put up my hand. I'm hoping I'll bump into her, but I'm not holding my breath." Danny takes a deep breath. "I'm travelling as Danny Okede. That's my usual legend. I source holiday destinations for my boss in London. It's plausible enough for people to believe me, and vague enough for them to accept my story. I'm here because a storage of Yersinia Pestis bacterium was uncovered in a semi in South London, and I know I shouldn't be telling you any of this. The family living there are Turkish, and Harry thinks that the connection they have with Cyprus may be relevant."
"Harry? How is he?" Ruth finds herself holding her breath.
"Harry? He'll be here tomorrow, so you can see for yourself."
"He's in the field?"
"Not exactly. He'll be posing as my boss – a guy who is looking to invest in holiday properties. Chiefly, he's here to snoop around. The person he and Malcolm suspect has family connections in Cyprus, and he owns considerable property in Polis."
"I ….. I've lived here for over a year, and I know quite a lot of the locals."
"Ever heard of Theo Kyriakou?"
"Theo? I don't know him, but I work with his cousin …... at the hospital. His cousin, George Kyriakou, is a doctor at the hospital."
Ruth suspects she is already in the middle of whatever is going on here, on this idyllic island.
"Theo began life as a biochemist, but he made his fortune by developing a remedy for arthritis, which he patented, calling it Kyriarth, and then sat back while the money rolled in. He invested a lot of it in property, both here and on Crete, and some in the smaller islands off Croatia. He's been quiet these past seven years, and it's suspected he may be …..."
"Harvesting the bacterium responsible for the Black Plague?"
"A variant of it, because we already have the antibiotic to combat the original bacterium. Anyway, Harry has met Theo Kyriakou, and wants to try the personal touch first. Besides, I suspect he needs time away from home. I think his missus is giving him grief, and he needs a break."
There is a long silence while Ruth absorbs Danny's words. They can only be interpreted in one way.
"Harry is ….. married?"