A/N: I know I wasn't going to visit post-Cotterdam H & R again, but I must be obsessed with it, I guess. This is a very AU look at yet another series of possibilities. Kudos characters not mine.
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
~ Lord George Byron (published in 1808) ~
Harry lifted his head and looked over to check that his bed companion was asleep. She was, so that meant it was time for him to leave. He had made it a rule that he would not spend the night with her, and nor would he ever take her back to his house, and to his own bed. He had concocted for himself a set of rules, and as ridiculous as these rules were, they made sense to him, and they made him feel slightly better about his involvement with her. There was only one woman on the planet who was welcome in his home, and in his own bed, only one woman with whom he would be prepared to sleep overnight, and although they had never shared a bed, he was hoping that one day a miracle would occur which might change that …... some time soon before they were both too old to take advantage of it.
He slid silently out of bed, and looked back at Carol's sleeping form in the bed – her bed, in her flat, the flat she kept secret from everyone but him. She was a good companion – funny, rather clever, accommodating (that is, she didn't ask awkward questions), available, and she was skilled enough in bed to have maintained his interest. That was all he'd been looking for when he'd first approached her in a bar late one Friday night seventeen months earlier.
"Can I buy you a drink?" he'd said, expecting her to tell him to get lost.
"I thought you'd never ask," she'd replied, rolling her eyes, and indicating the man on the other side of her who had been boring her with the intricacies of his fertiliser business.
They had had sex that first night. Harry had told Carol up front that he was in love with a woman who was living in another country, and he'd not known when or if he'd ever see her again. She had seemed comfortable with that, and had not even commented when he had left soon after they had had sex. The sex had been good – fiery and inventive, but it had not the passion and intimacy of a coupling between people who care for one another. Harry could never love Carol. He was not available to love another, which is why he needed someone like her. He knew he was using her, but so was she using him. He used her body to let go and to offload his tension, and she seemed happy for him to do that.
"I'm married," Carol had told him after they'd been together five or six times. They only saw one another once or twice a month, as mostly Carol was in her home in Germany. "My husband is German," she continued. "He has his liaisons, and I have mine. It works well for us."
"Does he know about me?" Harry had asked, not knowing why he even needed to know. He had known Carol was married; he'd discovered that when she'd been vetted. It made no difference to him.
"Not specifically, although I've told him I see someone in London, and another man in Paris."
"There are two of us?"
"Of course, Harry," she'd said. "You don't imagine that you're enough for me, do you?"
Harry had felt somewhat miffed, but he also knew he was becoming rather mechanical in his couplings with her. He knew there'd come a day when he'd be bored by her, and she by him. For the time being, she served a purpose.
He wasn't sure what it was she did for a living, and why it was she travelled regularly to London and Paris. She'd told him her name was Carol Klein, and he'd told her his name was Harry Standing. The name had popped out of his mouth before he'd given it any thought. So Harry Standing he was. Other than the occasional dinner, they didn't date. Mostly they met at Carol's flat, had a drink or two, and then retired to the bedroom for sex. Harry stayed awake afterwards, waiting for her to fall asleep, and then he'd leave, and she never knew to where. For all she knew, he could have himself been married.
Harry considered himself married, which was strange when the woman he had loved for more than four years was someone with whom he'd shared a chaste relationship. He could not look at another woman without comparing them to her. They had kissed on only two occasions. Their last kiss had been a kiss of goodbye on the morning she'd left London to go into exile. The air had been cold by the Thames that morning, and their lips were stiff and almost frozen as they'd kissed their last goodbye, a bittersweet parting from which Harry had not yet fully recovered.
Their first kiss had been after the one and only time they'd gone out to dinner together. He had walked her to the door, and placed a soft kiss on her cheek, close to the corner of her mouth. They had looked at one another then, and she had opened her front door, and taken him by the hand, drawing him into the front hallway, quickly closing the door behind them. His heart had begun beating rapidly in his chest, as she'd leaned against him, and placed her lips on his. For a brief moment in time, they had abandoned themselves to a kiss which opened the door just a little to what was possible for them. There had been a meeting of tongues, her hands had travelled warmly over his chest and then around his neck and to his shoulders. Her hands had set of sparks of electricity across his skin, and then to every part of his body, as she ran her fingers over his clothing. He had pushed his hips against her, letting her know that he was aroused by her. She had pushed her hips back towards him, and the grazing of their bodies against each other had brought him a level of illicit pleasure he had not experienced since he'd been in his teens, and had first touched a girl's breasts through her light summer dress. He had been the one to pull away first. After all, this had been their first date, and he was her boss, and she was so much younger than he. They should not have been going out to dinner together; they should not have been doing this in her front hallway; he should not have been having private thoughts about her of the kind he was having when he was lying alone in his bed.
"I'd like to do this again," he'd said, his mouth still close to her own. "Dinner. You and me. No-one else."
"I'll let you know," she'd answered, smiling, before she kissed him again, softly, briefly and sweetly.
The taste of her lips and her skin was still in his mouth as he'd opened his car door, and settled himself into the drivers seat. Her perfume still inhabited his nostrils, and he hoped in that moment that it always would …... for the rest of his life. He knew it was already too late for him. He could not rewind the clock. He was already in love with her …... hopelessly, romantically, head-over-heels.
And then she had turned down his offer of a second date, citing that their co-workers were laughing at them.
He'd been shattered, bewildered, and confused …... but he'd still held out hope that he could change her mind.
And then the very worst thing had happened, and she had had to leave the country …... perhaps forever.
That had broken him, and over four years later, he was still broken.
Try as he might, Harry could not shake the memory, the promise of that first kiss they'd shared inside her front door. He'd seen it as a beginning, but instead, it had been a tantalising taste of what would never be.
It was in that frame of mind that two and a half years after Ruth had left London, Harry had gone to the bar in search of solace, and he had met Carol Klein.
The next morning – Saturday – Harry's phone had rung just as he was sitting down to a breakfast of coffee and toast.
"Harry? It's Malcolm."
"Malcolm. It's been a long time."
"Almost a year by my reckoning. I need to see you, Harry. Can you come by my place today? I have some important information for you."
Ruth? Perhaps he knows Ruth's whereabouts. For Harry, that is at the top of his list of Important Information, barring the whereabouts of Lucas North, who seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth.
"I'm required at work until early afternoon, but I should be able to make your place by two, three at the latest."
"Make sure you bring your phone, Harry."
"Of course. I always have it on me."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
Malcolm showed Harry into his den – which was his office, but he liked to call it his den. It was a room off-limits to his mother, who still lived with him, but spent most weekends in respite care. It would only be a matter of time before his mother would require full time care, and for that, she'd have to go into a nursing home, something Malcolm was dreading facing.
"I have a number of things to show you, Harry," Malcolm began, "but firstly, you need to give me your SIM from your phone, and I'll have it destroyed, and the number taken off the database. Here is your new SIM." Malcolm handed him a plain card with the SIM stuck to it. A mobile number was written on the card in Malcolm's hand. "This number will not be traced to you, and you should be prudent about who it is you give it to. Of course, everyone at work will need it, as will the HS, the DG, and anyone who requires regular contact with you. I have already put the number in my contacts on my own phone."
Harry busied himself with removing his phone's SIM, and replacing it with the new one. "I imagine you have your reasons," he mumbled.
"I do. The first one is that this woman has access to it, and I'm not sure whether that's a good idea. Your whereabouts can be traced through that SIM. Until I know more about her …... activities …. it's safer you have a new phone number …... one which can't be traced to you."
Malcolm placed on the table in front of Harry a grainy photograph of a blonde-haired, late 40's woman, dressed smartly in a tailored suit. Harry leaned over and was visibly startled when he recognised Carol Klein.
"How do you -"
"I'm currently doing some private work for North Yorkshire Aeronautics. They have business interests in Germany and Sweden, and they asked me to put a trace on a German engineer by the name of Gunther Hoff. This is his wife – Stephanie Hoff. I believe you know her as -"
"Carol Klein. I had Carol Klein vetted, and she came up clean."
"That is because Carol Klein is clean. She owns the flat which Stephanie Hoff uses for her …... assignations. Carol Klein is a travel agent who spends much of her time out of the country. She and Stephanie Hoff met in Germany, where both their husbands work. So ….. your vetting of Carol Klein would have come up with information which also fits Mrs Hoff. "
Malcolm put another several photographs in front of Harry. They were CCTV photos from a camera across the road from the flat where he met Carol/Stephanie. He described the photos as he placed them on the desk.
"This is Stephanie Hoff with Martin Degaris, head of security at North Yorkshire Aeronautics. This next one you can see is you entering the flat. The date and time stamp is clear on all these. This is Carol Klein, returning from an overseas trip, and this last one is Stephanie Hoff with an unknown male companion. You have been one of three men she's been seeing over the past year. Until I know for certain what she's up to, and whether her – er – seeing you is a coincidence or a cunning plan, it is prudent you cut all ties with her ….. as of now."
"Why didn't you mention this to me before, Malcolm?"
"I had to get a wider picture of this first. Does she know your real name?"
"She knows me as Harry Standing. I never mention my job, although I've intimated I'm in business, and that I sometimes travel."
"Are you fond of her?"
"Fond? What does that mean?"
"Are you in love with her?"
"Of course not. It's just sex. Nothing more."
"Would it upset you if you never saw her again?"
"No. All we were to one another was just a convenient shag. I told her on the first night I met her that I was in love with someone else."
"And are you?"
"Yes. You know I am."
"It's easy to remain true to someone when you haven't seen them in a long time."
"No, it's not, Malcolm. It's hell. I was seeing her …..." Harry pointed to the photograph of the woman he'd known as Carol. "... to try to take my mind off Ruth."
"And did it work?"
Harry shook his head, his expression sad and defeated. "Who is this Hoff woman?"
"I'm not yet sure, but everything points to her being a legitimate courier for her husband. She delivers his documents from Germany to France, and to Sweden, and to the UK, and she also meets with his clients. She is his public face. Martin Degaris is not a client, so I'm assuming her contact with him is …... for pleasure. Gunther Hoff is a freelance aeronautical engineer. Only the very best in the field get to go freelance. North Yorkshire have been interested in what he's been selling. They suspect that he's selling something else entirely in the Middle East, which is where my attention will be directed from now on. I suspect the aeronautical connections are simply a cover. If he's selling anything other than aeronautical patents to the Middle East, North Yorkshire will be breaking their contract with him. When I saw your face turning up at the flat, I was hoping you were not involved."
"Only sexually, Malcolm. I won't be seeing her again. She's always contacted me by phone. I don't even have a mobile number for her. I didn't see the point."
Malcolm checked his watch, and noticing that it had just gone 3.30 pm, he suggested a drink.
"Are you going back into work today, Harry?"
"No. Alec is handling the Grid. Our main concern is Lucas North, and when we find him, he'll need to be brought in. Other than that, things are quiet."
Harry sat back in his chair, and shuffled through the CCTV photographs in front of him. The most noticeable thing about them was the strong resemblance between Stephanie Hoff and Carol Klein. Other than perhaps a difference in age of around 5 years, with the real Carol Klein being perhaps in her mid-forties, the same description fitted both women – same height, hair colour, eye colour, and both had a mole on their right collar bone.
Malcolm brought in a bottle of single malt whiskey, and two glasses. He poured a generous measure for each of them. "And now for the real news," he said, sitting back in the chair opposite where Harry sat. "There are two main points of interest. The first is that Oliver Mace has been arrested. He's been extradited to The Hague. The crimes against his name are unclear at present, but I don't think it matters now whether he faces a jury over what he did to try to oust you from MI-5."
"It matters to me, Malcolm. Ruth had to leave because of it."
"What it means is that Ruth can now come home."
Harry swallowed his mouthful of whiskey, and almost choked on it. He coughed until he got his breath back. "What did you say?"
"Mace is in The Hague on charges of conspiracy against the European Union. Don't ask me what that means, as I haven't bothered to look into it, having been too busy with other things. He'll not see daylight for at least fifteen years. This means that Ruth is free to come home."