"Hello, Malcolm," she greets with a warm smile. "It's lovely to see you again. How are you?"
"Fine, fine," he replies, stepping through her door and letting her take the coat he's just shrugged off his shoulders. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," she says as she leads him through to her small kitchen. "Tea? Coffee? Wine?"
"Tea, please," he replies, taking a seat at the table when she refuses his offer of assistance. He watches her as she moves about collecting teacups, teapot, tea, milk jug, sugar bowl and biscuits, thinking back to the last time he saw her, less than a month ago, just before she'd lost George.
"How are things on the Grid?" she asks.
"Same as always, I imagine," he says and at her quick questioning glance he adds, "I took early retirement."
"What?!" she exclaims in astonishment.
"I felt it was time to move on," he explains, pouring some milk into the teacup she places in front of him and murmuring his thanks. "After all that happened... I was ready to leave, let someone else take over, someone younger, fitter, full of energy and enthusiasm." He smiles a crooked smile.
She's silent for a moment, lost in thought. "And are you still glad you did it?" she asks.
"It was the right time and I don't regret it," he replies.
She nods slowly a few times and then smiles. "So what have you been doing with yourself?"
"Oh, this and that. I've been sorting through Mother's possessions mostly. I never had the time or the inclination to do it before," he replies.
"Your mother?" she asks with a frown of concern.
"She passed away three months ago," he explains.
"Oh, Malcolm," she says with feeling, "I'm so sorry."
"It was her time," he shrugs and means it. He misses her, but he's come to accept her passing and is content in the knowledge that she's in a happier place. "I'm just glad it was painless. She died in her sleep. Anyway, my house has never been more organised, or less cluttered than it is right now, and it's ready to be shut up for some time while a do some travelling."
"Where are you going?" she asks with interest.
"Everywhere," he smiles.
"That's rather ambitious," she replies.
"Tell me about it," he nods. "Though to begin with, I think I'll stick to Europe. I leave next week for Oslo. I've always wanted to visit Scandinavia and it's the right time of year to do it now. I plan to be away for a good few months, wondering around the capitals of Europe, visiting museums-"
"Sitting in cafés," she interrupts, and for a moment, there is such a wistful look in her eyes as she says it that he wonders what she's thinking. It disappears almost immediately, however, to be replaced by the pain that dwells there almost all the time now.
"Yes," he murmurs. "Anyway, I wanted to come round and see you before I left."
"Thank you, Malcolm," she smiles. "I'm glad you came."
A brief silence settles between them as the sit quietly and sip their tea, munching on a biscuit each. Eventually he says, "So how are you, Ruth? And please don't tell me you're fine because we both know that's a lie."
She looks at him and her eyes are filled with so much pain and sadness that it makes his heart ache for her. "I'm..." she begins but tails off.
"Sad? Hurt? Distraught?" he offers.
"Yes," she sighs.
"It's been almost four weeks now, Ruth," he murmurs softly. "Have you talked to anyone about what happened?"
"No," she shakes her head sadly. "I can't, Malcolm... Besides which, who is there to talk to? Everyone thinks I'm dead."
"I don't," he volunteers, "if you're looking for a friend rather than a professional. And neither does Jo."
"Jo," Ruth smiles. "Dear Jo... but she's so young, Malcolm, and..." She falls silent.
"And?" he prompts sensing that what she wanted to say is important.
"She works for him," she whispers so softly, he has to strain to hear her.
He nods and takes a sip of his tea before he puts the cup down and says, "I don't."
"But you're his friend," she murmurs, looking back up at him.
"I'm yours too, Ruth," he replies gently. "This is about you and what happened to your family. I'd be happy to help in any way I can... I'm a good listener and I hope you know that anything you tell me in confidence will not be shared with another living soul."
She says nothing, just looks away, out the window at the pouring rain.
"Tell me about George, Ruth," he says. "He seemed a nice man, a little grumpy perhaps, but that's understandable under the circumstances." She smiles briefly and he adds, "How did you meet?"
"He was a doctor at the hospital where I did some clerical work for a while," she replies. She looks out the window, lost in a world of memories, but he doesn't speak this time. He just waits patiently for her to continue. Eventually she says, "He noticed me from my very first day at work. He was charming and kind. He said he could tell that something was troubling me and he'd like to help... and he didn't take no for an answer. He kept trying to gain my confidence, sharing his own story of how he lost his wife, telling me about his son, listening attentively to everything I said. Eventually I told him how my legend had lost her husband and had wanted a new start in a new place. He started to bring me flowers every morning, some of which he picked himself on his way to work. He brought me coffee when I refused to go out for one. He was kind, gentle, and so persistent, Malcolm, so very persistent. It took me six months to agree to go for a coffee. I met Nico about a month after that when he insisted that I join them for a picnic on the beach, and I fell in love with what he was offering... a chance at a family, a life free of danger and loss." She turns to look at him and laughs a pained, ironic laugh. "I should have known it was too good to be true."
"You had no way of knowing what would happen, Ruth," he replies gently.
She shakes her head. "We were happy, Malcolm," she sighs turning to look out the window once more. She's silent for a long time, and then eventually, she asks, "How did they find me?"
"We think it was someone from Six," he confesses. "Someone happened to see you, recognised you, and told Steven Hillier."
She nods slowly and fiddles with her cup. "Because of Harry," she sighs.
"Because of Harry," he nods sadly, thinking how unfair it is that love has caused so much pain for his two friends. It's unlikely that anyone would have recognised Ruth if Harry hadn't been in love with her and prepared to go to prison to save her. No one would have remembered her or paid her the slightest bit of attention. They're silent again for a little while. "It isn't his fault, Ruth," he dares eventually.
"Don't," she shakes her head. "Please, Malcolm. I can't-"
"I'm sorry," he repents. "You're right." He pauses and then adds, "I can't imagine what you're going through. You must really miss them both."
"I do," she nods, fighting to hold back the tears that have gathered in her eyes. "Especially Nico."
"I liked him," he smiles. "He's a smart lad. Active though. Nothing like I was at his age."
"No," she replies with a wobbly smile, "I imagine not. He loves to swim and play ball. He never really sits still. We had a pool and he was in it all the time. Swam like a fish. He..." but she can't finish her sentence as her emotions get the better of her and she begins to weep, lifting her hands to cover her face as she attempts to stem the flow of tears, murmuring a muffled, sobbing apology.
Malcolm simply leans forward and presses his handkerchief into her hand, telling her that it's fine and she has nothing to apologise for. He hesitates for a moment and then moves his chair a little closer before reaching out and rubbing his hand across her shoulders in comfort.
It takes her a few minutes, but eventually Ruth manages to stop weeping. "I'm sorry," she murmurs once more as she sits back, causing his hand to drop to his side again, and wipes her eyes and nose.
"It's quite all right, Ruth," he replies. "Really." He watches her quietly as she toys with the handkerchief in her hands, wishing that there was something he could do to ease her suffering. She really ought to be seeing someone about this, a professional, but he knows better than to attempt to convince her of that now. He's sure it doesn't help that she's spending most of her time alone in this drab, little flat. She needs to get out, live a little, take her mind off George and Nico for a little while.
"Jo asked me if I'd like to go back to work," she says suddenly.
"And do you?" he asks.
"I don't know," she sighs. "I really don't know. If I do... well, it won't be easy... but I did love my job, Malcolm, before I left... And if I don't, what am I going to do with myself?... I can't risk this happening again, and at least, when I worked for MI-5, I knew my work made a difference and I was part of something important..."
"Oh, Ruth," he sighs and almost tells her that she shouldn't be thinking like that, that what happened was a fluke, that the likelihood of it happening again is minuscule and that she shouldn't be planning a life of solitude for the rest of her life. But he knows that there is no point in voicing these thoughts now; she's not ready to hear them. "Come with me," he declares suddenly. "Travel with me around Europe. I'd love the company. It would be much more fun - What was it you said? Sitting in cafés? - with you than on my own."
"Thank you, Malcolm," she smiles and again he catches that wistful look in her eyes for a moment. "Thank you for the offer, but I can't."
"Why not?" he asks, but seeing the pained look she gives him as she shakes her head gently, he decides not to press her. Instead, he nods and adds, "Think about it. I'll be gone at least six months, so just drop me an email if you change your mind, and I'll let you know where I am. It need only be for a few days, and I hope you know that you wouldn't have to worry about any of the practicalities relating to accommodation and sustenance. You're one of the few good friends I have and I would be more than happy to take care of that. The offer's always open. Here," he adds and hands her a card with his contact details. "Just in case."
"Thanks, Malcolm," she smiles. "You're a good friend."
He nods and they fall silent once more for a few moments. "Well, I'd better be off," he says eventually, rising from the table. "Thanks for the tea and chat. It's lovely to see you, Ruth. Keep in touch, won't you?"
"I will," she nods. "Thanks for listening and I'm sorry I'm such terrible company right now."
"Nonsense," he scoffs. "You wouldn't know how to be terrible company, Ruth, and besides, what are friends for, eh?"
She walks him to the front door of her flat and he slips back into his coat before stepping out into the hallway. "Take care, Ruth," he smiles and, this time, leans in to give her a hug.
"You too, Malcolm," she replies as she pulls back, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. "Safe travels."
"Thanks," he nods. Then before he turns to go, he adds, "Time heals all wounds, Ruth. Hang in there."
