A/N: For the sake of what little plot there is (without which this story would not exist), you have to suspend belief about whether Ruth would acually go along with this assignment, because she's meant to be clever, right? I'm supposing that during times of stress, she's not always as clever as we expect her to be.

And this is not the story I meant to write when I began writing this, but this is what came out.

This has to be the dumbest, stupidest, most badly devised assignment ever in the history of MI-5, and Ruth, who is now winding her way by rental car down the steep streets of St Ives, at the end of which she hopes to find her B&B, feels like the guinea pig. It had been Lucas's idea, but the rest of Section D had appeared to be encouraging of her driving to Cornwall to keep an eye on the woman with whom Harry had been spending a lot of time.

"I can't find anything incriminating, Lucas," she'd said, "apart from some anti-government student activity while she was at university, but that's par for the course."

"She had a seven year relationship with Francois Bonfils."

"And?"

"He's now doing fifteen years in Fresnes for being part of the plot to murder President Jacques Chirac."

"Which didn't succeed, and has what to do with Frances Carmichael?"

"I'm not sure, but she honed in on Harry as soon as he got to St Ives."

"Why shouldn't she? He's a single man."

"Is he?"

Ruth had stopped typing (which she'd been doing rather angrily, her fingers hitting, rather than gently tapping the keys), and stared across the top of her monitor at Lucas.

"What do you mean by that, Lucas?"

Lucas stood up to his full height of over six feet, and frowned down at her. "Sorry," he said, his voice suddenly soft. "I gathered that you and Harry were …... and that he'd taken some leave to sort out something that might or might not have happened between -"

"Harry has taken leave because he hasn't taken any more than a couple of days off for over five years. He needs a break."

"Ruth, I'm not questioning his need for a break. He works long hours, and I know that Ros Myers' death rocked him. It's just that I …... assumed -"

"Never assume anything, Lucas. Harry and I are close colleagues. Nothing more."

"You've had contact with him since he's been on leave?"

"No. I haven't."

That had been two days ago. Harry has been on leave for twelve days, and already he's found a woman to …... sleep with, it would seem, if Ed Burfield from Section B is to be trusted. Ed is on holiday in St Ives, and has seen Harry dining with this woman on at least three occasions. It was Ed who rang Dimitri, who spoke to Lucas, who then ordered Ruth to go and keep an eye on Harry. And Frances. Ruth is still not sure who or what it is she's meant to be watching. St Ives is hardly a hive of terrorist cells.

She books into the B&B, to discover that her room has been booked and paid for for a week, with the option of extending her stay. That's over the top for a start. She can't imagine she'll need any more than three days away from London. She takes her bag to her room – on the top floor, but at the back of the house, with a window overlooking the back yard of a pub – and hangs her hanging clothes in the wardrobe, and slides her other clothes into the drawers of the dresser. She has brought some books with her – only a dozen or so – and she piles them on top of the dresser. She tests the double bed, and it is comfortable. At least she'll sleep well.

Ruth spends what remains of the day driving around St Ives, using a map which she'd been given when she'd booked into her B&B. Firstly, she drives past the semi-detached double-story stone cottage where Harry is staying. It is close to the beach, but right at the edge of town. She smiles, knowing that Harry wouldn't want to be right in the centre of St Ives. She's surprised that he'd even chosen St Ives, and not somewhere in Spain or Italy, although she remembers him once telling her that his family had holidayed there a few times when he was a child. Perhaps he's revisiting his memories. She knows that Harry has a soft heart.

She also drives past the house where Frances Carmichael is staying. It is modern and expensive looking, while the house Harry is staying in is run down and old, a leftover from the 1930's.

Over dinner in the dining room of her B&B, Ruth contemplates the last four weeks. Ros's horrific death had shocked the whole of Section D, but none more than Harry. Ruth knows that he had been in emotional turmoil at the time he'd asked her to marry him, and she also knows that she did the right thing in turning him down. To have said yes to him when he was so vulnerable may have locked them both into a contract neither of them had been able to properly honour. Of course she wants to be with Harry …... in that way – intimately - but they each have to be sure that each is the person they want, and not the comfort of just any warm body. She also remembers what she'd said to him on the roof – something about them being close enough just as they are, in their working relationship. She's not sure that is true, not for her, anyway. And Harry …... she doesn't know whether he wants companionship only, or just someone to shag when the itch needs scratching. She is certainly sexually attracted to Harry, but she can't believe he feels that way about her. A man like Harry could have almost anyone he wanted. He oozes charisma and sex appeal, so why would he want her?

By the time her head hits the pillow, Ruth is tired and confused, perhaps more confused than she's ever been. Harry has so many secrets – and he is gathering even more secrets while he is here in St Ives – and yet he is a spy, and so having and keeping secrets is a normal part of the life of a spy. Why is it so difficult for her to accept this? Here she is, in Cornwall, to keep an eye on a woman Harry may or may not be shagging, possibly as a reaction to her turning down his proposal of marriage, and all she can do is justify to herself why it is she'd turned him down. As she is about to slip into sleep, Ruth knows in her heart that turning Harry down has been one of the biggest mistakes of her life. She knows that she can't keep denying – to herself, as well as to him – the truth of what sits between them.

Next morning, Ruth is driving towards the house where Frances Carmichael lives, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman. The photograph she'd seen at Thames House had been a few years old, taken at the time of the trial of Francois Bonfils, and back then she'd appeared self-assured, elegant and attractive. That had been eight years ago, and she'd been 43 at the time. Ruth pulls her car into a parking spot diagonally opposite the house, pulls out a newspaper, and pretends to read. She doesn't have to wait long.

From the corner of her eye, Ruth sees movement at the front door of the house. She had bought some reading glasses from the pharmacy the day before, and she is wearing them as part of her disguise. They have a strong dark frame, and even to her own eyes, she looks like a different person while wearing them. She glances up from her newspaper, and over the top of her reading glasses she sees Harry's stocky figure walking down the pathway to the gate, and then as he closes the gate behind him, he looks up at the second floor window and smiles, and then walks to a dark green car, and gets in. In a second floor window, Ruth sees a figure standing, holding the curtain apart. Ruth looks down at her newspaper as the car drives past her. She looks into the rear view mirror, and watches the car leave the street. It is only then that she feels the tears rolling down her cheeks.

Ruth is angry, rather than sad. She is angry that only a few weeks after he'd asked her to marry him, Harry is having sex with another woman. Well, she's dodged a bullet there. He's still the same philandering fool he'd been when he was young and married.

But I turned him down. Had I said yes, would he still be out with other women? Would he have needed to get away from me so badly that he had to take leave?

Despite it being only a little after 7 in the morning, Ruth rings Lucas.

"I don't think I can do this," she says, as soon as he answers.

"What's wrong?"

"Everything. It appears Harry spent the night with Carmichael. I just saw him leave."

"You're meant to be watching the woman, Ruth. We need to know why it is she's honed in on him."

"I don't know, Lucas. Maybe he's her type. Maybe he honed in on her."

"That's not what happened. According to Ed Burfield, they were each dining at The Quay – alone – when she approached him. He shook his head, so she backed off. The next night the same thing happened, and he – rather reluctantly, it seemed – allowed her to join him, and after dinner they left together."

That news didn't make Ruth feel any better.

'Besides," she says, "I can't follow someone who stays at home all day."

"Enjoy yourself today, Ruth. It's not all about work. Tonight, you need to be at the same restaurant. They go there every other night or so."

Which leaves Ruth wondering what it is they do on the nights they don't go to dinner. "Sod men," she says aloud, as she starts the car, and does U-turn in front of Frances Carmichael's house.

Ruth does as Lucas advises. She tries to enjoy her day. She spends most of the morning walking around St Ives, until just ahead of her, she sees Harry enter a shop, and then she decides that she'd be safer in her room at the B&B. She turns and wends her way back to the beach, where she wanders along the sand. It is still six or eight weeks until the season begins, and there are few tourists. The wind whips her hair, and chills her, even though she is wearing several layers under her hooded jacket.

It is at Lucas's suggestion that at 7 o'clock, she heads to The Quay restaurant on Quay Street, near the entrance to Smeaton's Pier. The restaurant is smarter than she's used to, but she's received assurance from Lucas that MI-5 will cover all her expenses while she is away. She sits at a small table at the back of the restaurant, orders a bottle of wine and a dozen oysters, and waits. She is on her third glass of wine by the time she is able to ignore the small voice in her head which is telling her that what she is doing – sitting in the same restaurant where her targets will be dining, and in full view of them – is poor trade craft.

"Sod trade craft," she says, not recognising that she'd said the words aloud, until the couple dining at the next table suddenly look up at her in surprise.

Ruth is on her fourth glass of wine when Harry and Frances arrive. She is relieved that they are not holding hands, and that when they are seated at a table by the window, they do not gaze into one another's eyes. Despite that, she is flummoxed by Frances Carmichael. She is elegant, yes, but is also showing her age, and has put on more than a few pounds around her hips. Despite that, she is not unattractive. Harry, as usual, looks amazing in slacks, a blue open necked shirt, and a casual jacket. Ruth, on the other hand, is dressed in a sensible dress with buttons down the front.

It's not surprising Harry doesn't fancy me, she thinks, topping up her wine glass.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Ruth jumps, and then looks up into Harry's face, as he leans over her, his hazel eyes blazing with anger.

A/N: And I need to remind you that all is not as it seems.