Little bit of fluff. Rather glad this didn't happen in RL (so to speak) though! Usual disclaimers apply, hope you enjoy.
As the train speeds south he wonders, not for the first time, if he is too late. It had, after all, taken him months to realise that things weren't getting any easier, one sleepless night to realise there was only one way to solve that, and then weeks of surreptitiously putting things in motion. From the beginning he'd used his contacts, called in favours, and haphazardly kept tabs; losing the thread occasionally but always picking it up again. Now it seemed that the trail had come to an end; all he had to do was follow it.
He is travelling light; a large holdall, a laptop bag and a raft of legends that he is sure will cause enough of a smokescreen to lose anyone who might come following along behind. Along with his identity, gone are the Savile Row suits and the Jermyn Street shirts and ties. In their place are black jeans, chambray shirts and a GoreTex windcheater. Timberland boots, Oakley sunglasses and a baseball cap complete the look. Harry ruefully observes that he looks like one of the cousins on vacation.
For four days he zigzags across Europe; he spends a further tormenting forty eight hours ensuring that his are the only eyes watching her, that there is nobody else in her life. His first sight of her, she is sitting at a table outside a cafe, picking at a salad, engrossed in what looks like a dog eared Penguin classic. She is wearing a simple white dress which highlights her Mediterranean tan, and her legs are bare. At one point she looks up in his direction, and it is as if her eyes look deep into his, then with a shake of her head she returns to her book. As he lays the binoculars down, his hands are shaking.
He stands outside the hospital, just off the path, and waits. Unsurprisingly, she is late, and the sun hangs just above the horizon when she finally appears. She is alone, and distractedly rummaging in a capacious red cotton bag. Looking for her car keys, he surmises. He steps out of the shadows. Sensing a presence on the path in front of her she slows and looks up. She sees him. It takes a split second for her brain to process the reality of what is before her, and she bursts into tears.
Mentally he has rehearsed a dozen scenarios, but not this one. A rather glaring omission, he realises now, given that it is she alone among her colleagues that he has ever seen cry. Nonplussed he stands there. And then she is running towards him, and in his arms. After a moment she pulls away from him and asks why he is there. He knows she thinks something is terribly wrong. He tells her that he missed her; his eyes tell her so much more.
The short drive back to her house is made in silence; there is too much to say. As she unlocks the door she asks him has he eaten? He can't remember when. Chattering brightly she throws her bag onto the sofa and says she'll rustle something up, something quick and easy. He takes in his surroundings. Spartan, functional, impersonal, impermanent. Bare, whitewashed walls, a stone floor, a sofa, an armchair, a table and chairs.
He follows her through to the kitchen. She is piling the contents of the fridge onto the worktop. She asks after Malcolm, after Adam, after Zaf and Jo. And what about Scarlet and the cats? Wes, he tells her. He's looking after them, with a bit of help from his dad.
She is nervous, he knows that. Overwhelmed. As she chops basil leaves he moves over to her and gently wraps his arms around her waist. His lips find the base of her neck. Her breathing quickens, and he takes this as permission. His hands slide under her blouse; his fingertips glide over her skin before reaching up to cup her breasts. Almost reflexively she presses her hips against him, and she realises that dinner will have to wait.
Easing out of his arms she sees the momentary flicker of dismay on his face, then she takes his hand and leads him upstairs. When they finally fall asleep in a tangle of sheets and limbs, dawn is beginning to break over the headland.
In the morning he will tell her that he's not going back.