Friday (evening)

Ruth looked around the room in search of a familiar face – not just any familiar face, either, but the dearest – as well as the frequently-most-vexatious-and-frustrating – face she knew. Being Friday night, the room was packed, the music was drowned out by the sounds of laughter, glasses clinking, and the rumble and cacophony of countless conversations. She moved into the room, being elbowed by someone carrying a tray of drinks to a table behind her.

"Watch where you're walkin', luv," he said, but Ruth ignored him.

Then she saw him, sitting at the bar, and she began moving closer to him. He was hunched over, his fingers stroking the glass of whiskey in front of him, and as she got closer, she could see …... a woman sitting on the stool beside him, leaning close to him. Ruth stopped and stared. She stared at the woman. How could he? She was …... she was cheap looking, like a hooker, with her trowelled-on makeup, which barely hid a very lived-in face, and her bleached-bond hair. The woman noticed her eyes on Harry, and said something to him, all the while watching Ruth. He turned, those hazel eyes meeting her own, drawing her to him, as they always did.

Ruth moved to turn away and leave. This had been a really bad idea. She should have rung him, except that he was using a pay as you go phone, and she hadn't the number, and he'd been unable to ring her on her phone, since no doubt her phone, like his own, would be tapped.

"Ruth," she heard his voice right behind her, and then he grasped her arm. Ruth's instinct was to pull out of his grasp and run, but then the habit, the desire to run simply fell away from her, and she stopped still, turning to face him. Those eyes, those beautiful, hypnotic eyes. She could not deny him when he looked at her with such sadness. All the fight went out of her, and she sighed.

"Let's get out of here," he said, protectively sliding an arm around her waist, as he guided her out of the bar, through the entrance, and on to the street.

Neither spoke as he negotiated his way through and around groups of rowdy, drunken young people on the pavement, a group of four young men spilling on to the road in a fight over a girl.

"She's wi' me, man."

"Nah, she wi' me -" and he landed a punch on the other man, while two more joined in. The girl in question stood on the pavement, heels elevating her to stratospheric heights, her skirt barely covering her bum, her eyes glowing as brightly as her fluorescent green nail polish, at the spectacle of the young men fighting over her. Ruth was sure she wasn't of legal age to be drinking, and perhaps not even the age of consent, but that was not her concern. That girl's life was someone else's problem. She had enough problems of her own.

Harry drew Ruth around the group, and then with his arm still around her waist, he quickly guided her down a lane off the main street, where his car was parked. Once inside the car, Harry started the engine, and pulled into the lane, driving slowly so as to not attract attention.

"Where are you staying?" he asked, once he'd turned into the main road.

"Castle Lodge Hotel. It's on -"

"I know where it is," he said, as he turned his car northwards. "Do you have a car?"

"No. I came by train."

"From London?"

"Yes."

"Were you followed?"

"Only for a short way. I put the word out that I was visiting my mother. Anyone who knows me well enough also knows that I haven't been in touch with her since my three years in exile. I drove to Cheltenham, and by the time I reached the city limits, my tail had gone. I left that car in a hospital carpark. It was a blue Astra, and there are a million of those on the road. I instructed Tariq to get it back to London as best he can."

"I take it you're on leave."

"Not exactly."

"You've absconded? Isn't that risky?"

"No more than it is for you."

"But I'm on enforced leave, Ruth."

"Who was it created the fancy program that has the lights turning on and off at your house, giving the impression that you're still at home?"

"Who do you think?"

"Malcolm's a genius."

"That goes without saying. I'm assuming he told you where I am, and how to find me."

"In a way."

"He told you where my house is?"

"No. He'd never do that. He just told me the bar you frequent of a Friday night."

"Ah …. I must have let that slip."

"Where are we going?"

"To your hotel. We'll pay for your stay, and then you can get your things and come with me."

"Harry -"

"There's to be no discussion on this, Ruth. I'll not have you wandering around an unfamiliar town playing at being a spy."

"Harry!"

"What?"

They were stopped at traffic lights, waiting for them to turn green. Harry's eyes were on the road, and Ruth's eyes were on him. She looked at him, thinking how beautiful he was, but how infuriating he could be. He hadn't once asked her if she wanted to go with him. He'd immediately assumed she was better off with him than on her own …... which she was. She just wished he'd thought to consult her, even though she knew that, on consultation, she'd happily go with him. If only he could have been this assertive, this assured when she'd turned down his marriage proposal, instead of accepting her answer without question. If only he'd stood up to her then.

"Who was that woman?" The words tumbled out of her mouth. She hadn't meant to sound like a sniping wife. She hadn't planned to mention the tarty woman who'd been draped over Harry's arm in the pub.

"What woman?"

"The one in the bar. The one who was almost sitting on top of you."

The lights turned green, and Harry pulled away. Ruth noticed a smile on his lips, and immediately wished she'd not mentioned the woman.

"That was Linda. At least, that's what she told me. She looks after me."

"As in …...?"

"No, Ruth, not in that way." He turned and looked at her, noticing the frown line between her eyes. Good God, she's jealous!

"What way did you think I meant?"

"You know. I haven't slept with her. She tried it on with me a few times, but I told her I was with someone. She asked me where that someone was, and I said that she was in London working. She kept trying to get me to take her to bed, and I kept refusing. She claimed to give the best oral sex in Suffolk."

"You were tempted?"

Harry laughed aloud then. "Not even slightly," he said.

"Why not?"

"You know why not."

There was a silence of a few minutes while Harry drove through the back streets to avoid the traffic.

"You said she looks after you. You know how that sounds, don't you?"

"It's all down to how you interpret it, Ruth. When Linda is with me, no-one bothers me – male or female."

"You've been hit on by men?"

"Once, the first night I went to that bar. Does that surprise you?"

"A little."

"Here's your hotel. Do you want me to come in with you?"

"No, Harry. That would look strange, and the duty manager may remember us being together. It's best I go in alone."

Harry drove north out of Felixtowe, turning off the main road, and taking a series of lanes into what could only be described as the hinterland, if in fact there was any kind of hinterland still to be found in Suffolk.

"This looks like the back blocks, Harry. Is it safe?"

"As safe as anywhere in the UK."

He pulled the car into a narrow lane which wove between the trees for almost a mile. At the end of the lane was a wood, and within this wood was a house.

"I bought this soon after my divorce. It was run down, and needed a lot of repairs, so it took me a while to get it in a good enough condition to even make it habitable. I think you might like it."

Harry drove the car to the front door, and then killed the motor. The house was quite narrow, but had two stories, along with an attic in a gable in the roof.

"It looks lovely, Harry," Ruth said, staring up at it.

"I bought it for a song. It'd be worth a bit now."

"I don't doubt it. Is it in your own name?"

Harry looked across at her and smiled, the first open smile she'd seen from him that night. "Of course not. I'm James Benjamin Munro while I'm here. James after my father, Benjamin after my brother, and Monro is my mother's maiden name. The locals call me James."

"Hello James. I'm Emma Barnes."

Ruth followed Harry upstairs, and down a corridor to a bedroom at the back of the house.

"This room is the third bedroom, but it has the best view. You can see over the whole valley behind the house."

Ruth's room was small, but comfortable, and the double bed was made with a navy blue duvet, and matching pale blue pillowcases on the pillows.

"You were expecting me, Harry?"

"Not exactly. I prefer to call it hoping that you'd find your way here."

Harry put her bags at the foot of the bed, and opened the wardrobe door, and showed her where she could hang her clothes, and the chest of drawers next to the wardrobe.

"The bathroom is next to my room. Follow me. I'll show you."

Ruth felt strange being shown around Harry's house in the country. And she felt even stranger when he showed her the bathroom, with it's large, claw-footed tub, along with a spacious shower alcove.

"You could share that shower with several others, Harry," she said, not even thinking about how her observation may be interpreted.

"I'm sure I could invite friends in to share the tub with me also," he said.

When their eyes met, and they each noticed a look of realisation on the face of the other, and they turned away, as if needing to examine the room around them in detail. It was their first genuinely awkward moment, a moment when the double meaning was clear, even if unintended.

"You can unpack your things if you like, Ruth. I'll go downstairs and make us a cuppa."

The kitchen in Harry's cottage was spacious, with an Aga against one wall, and floor to ceiling cupboard space along the opposite wall. The wooden table stood in the centre of the room, with six chairs around it. Harry indicated she should sit in the chair across the corner from him. While he poured them each a cup of tea, she looked around the room.

"There's a storage pantry through that door," he said, pointing to a wooden door between the sink and the cupboards. "It was little more than an empty room with a dirt floor when I bought the house."

"It's a lovely house, Harry. Do you plan to retire here?"

"One doesn't usually plan to retire to their safe house, Ruth."

"Is that what this is?"

He nodded, and Ruth saw the sadness there.

"They won't get rid of you," Ruth said, hoping she sounded more reassuring than she felt.

"I think there's every chance they will," he replied. "I could even do time. There are people – in the JIC, in government – who would love to see me behind bars."

"I won't let that happen," she said, with more conviction than she truly felt.

Harry put down his cup, and folded his hands in front of him. "You have more faith in me than I deserve, Ruth."

"I happen to know what kind of man you are, and the world needs men like you, not like …..."

"The yes-men in grey suits."

"Yes …... like them."

"You've changed your tune, Ruth."

"I know. I just needed time to …... see why you did …... what you did. Had I been the one having to make the decision you were faced with ….." Ruth looked at him, seeing his eyes on her, waiting for her answer, needing to hear her words, needing her to be absolutely truthful. "I could never have let you die, Harry. I ….. the world …... needs you."

Harry put out his hand and covered her own. They sat in silence while they both thought about the change in circumstances between them. Harry smiled, and squeezed Ruth's hand.

"Did finding out the weapon was inoperable change your mind, Ruth?"

"No, of course not. I had to decide whether saving you was worth committing treason for, and whichever way I looked at it, the answer was always the same." She looked at Harry then, and saw the adoration for her in his eyes. She wasn't about to let them get waylaid by emotion. There was much they had to do.

"How long are you planning to stay?" he asked.

"As long as it takes. I left the Grid without announcing my departure, although Dimitri and Tariq know where I've gone and why. If they throw you out, they'll have to throw me out along with you. As I see it, it's the security service's loss."

"That's …... rather bolshie of you, Ruth." A smile softened Harry's features.

"I thought that it was about time someone stood beside you on that wall."

Without warning, Harry picked up the hand he held, and brought it to his lips. He put his lips to the back of her hand, and then he turned her hand over, and kissed her inner wrist. Ruth felt her pulse quicken. She took a deep breath, before she withdrew her hand from his grasp.

"It's been a long day," she said quietly, "and I'm tired." She stood up quickly, pushing back her chair as she did. "Thank you for rescuing me, Harry." She put her hand on his shoulder, but quickly removed it before she walked to the door.

She turned and looked at him, seeing the bewilderment in his eyes. She hadn't meant to hurt him, and she certainly didn't mean to reject him. It's just that sometimes she found Harry to be overwhelming.

"I'll see you in the morning. We have a lot to do."

When she left the room, Harry sat back in his chair and sighed heavily. He didn't know whether he felt happy, or disappointed. Perhaps what he felt was a little of both. The woman he loved was under his roof, but she still had her walls... as did he.